Last night, after a nice evening at Amber (save for some smoke), I crashed over at my lovely gal’s place.

Deborah leaves for work pretty early and I usually opt to sleep in. She
left me a set of keys and asked that I make sure the cats are out of
the room and that I close the door to her room before I left. She’s had
some issues with her roomie that have led to some increased security
measures.

"Sure thing sweetie," as I drift back to sleep off the remainder of the night’s beers.

After a few rounds of "slap the snooze bar," I get up and make my
preparations to depart the house. First stop: the bathroom to brush my
teeth and put in my contacts. I trudge out of the room, being careful
to close the door so the cats don’t get in.

Brush the teeth. Install the contacts.

Go to the bedroom to get dressed…

Hand on the doorknob…

Locked.

I’m in my underwear.

The realization of "I’m fucked!" washes over me rather quickly. I
double/triple/quadrulple check the doorknob. I can hear my pants,
shirt, shoes, wallet, phone laughing at me from beyond the door.

I begin to laugh myself, at my prediciment–visions of walking back to my house in my underwear playing through my head.

I head downstairs in the hopes that there is a spare key or something
that will free my belongings. No key in sight, I realize that I am
going to have to find a way back to my house without the usual
accoutrement.

Then I spy, through the window into the laundry room, a pair of pants!
Black Danskin sweatpants, to be exact–size 8, flared at the bottom.
Better than underwear, though barely. The pants are tight and stop just
below my knee, with a nice flare.

I spend a few minutes on the back patio, seeing if there’s an easy way
to climb up to Deborah’s window. With knee in current state: not
advised.

I head back upstairs to the hall closet (Deborah’s roommate keeps some
overflow clothes there) in search of a top to complete my ensemble. No
shoes that fit; no surprise there. I settle on a nice black DKNY jacket
that covers most of my arms and a bit of my chest…

Now, to find a way home!

I open the front door and lean out, looking to find a cab to hail. A few go by in ten minutes, but they all have passengers.
A man walks by and I ask him if I can borrow his cell phone to call a
cab. He looks me up and down and says: "Sorry, I don’t have a cell
phone," and continues walking down the sidewalk. Heh.

Then, I see just down the street, a guy has parked in a driveway and
was loading stuff into his car. I suck up my pride and step out onto
the sidewalk. After explaining myself, he smiles and phones me a cab…

Happy Friday!