In the fourteen or so years I lived in Condo Conner I locked myself outside
a few times; enough to count on one hand and still have fingers left over.
In the less than six months here at the Facility in the Middle of Nowhere I
have now managed to lock myself out three times. What the heck is
wrong with me?
It just happened, otherwise I wouldn't be bringing this up. I'm putting
laundry in, and Rob comes down stairs and we start
chatting. I finish putting in the load and Rob heads outside to smoke a
cigarette and I follow him, subconsciously locking the door behind me.
The door closes. “Um, Rob,” I said. “You wouldn't happen to have your
keys on you, would you?”
“No. Why?”
“Oh … no particular reason … ”
Fortunately, Rob has a good sense of humor about these things.
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