Eff you, Jack Frost

Today I "locked" myself out of the house. I say "locked" because I was stuck outside without the means to get back in. But really it was because we had an icy little storm last night that coated the push-button mechanism on the back screen door with rain that then froze rendering it inoperable. Normally, I don't even set foot past the porch step without my keys and cell phone but something told me that today was a great day to live dangerously.

I went out to drag in the trashcan that probably wasn't even collected because it was also frozen shut. (Oh great, here comes the trash truck having no trouble with the cans. Damn.) I gripped the icy metal bar of the trashcan, carefully picking my way up the driveway, almost slipping with every step. The warmth from my hand (I also went out without gloves like some idiot from California) was melting the ice and I feared it was going to stick to the bar faster than Flick's tongue to the flag pole after a triple-dog dare. After a successful haul with no sticking I went for the screen door and that's when I realized I was doomed. Doomed to stay out on that back porch step for all eternity. I frantically clawed at the door trying to wrap my tiny little hands around the handle to melt the ice. I fell to my knees and cursed the day I left my homeland for Hoth.

Actually, I popped over to the neighbor's for hot water to dump on the handle because that's the kind of thing Midwesterners do. If she hadn't been home I would have gone to the next house and if they weren't home I would have knocked on every door, even the people I don't know, to get water. No Buckeye worth their road salt would have turned me away because we are all in this winter together. If this was So-Cal they would have told me they "don't speak English" and tried to shut the door and then I would have cussed them out in Spanish.

The hot water did the trick so I handed the cup off and went in to the test the front door. It wasn't frozen so had I been in possession of my keys I would have been able to get in. The back door will probably freeze again so I might have to let David in when he gets home. He had a good laugh when I called him at work to warn him. Just like he laughed when the garage door froze to the garage floor, a few months ago, and I had to use a gardening trowel to un-stick it. Maybe I won't let him in when gets home. Let him frantically pound on the back door as the sweat slowly freezes to his body. Pfft. Who I am kidding? David has never sweated the small stuff. He'll calmly come in through the front, tracking snow all over the carpet and ask, "What's for dinner?" Must be nice. Real nice.