The Naked Truth

This past Sunday morning at 6:30 I got locked out of the house. Twice. Naked. With a towel turban on my head. I thought I'd save the punch line of this post until the end, but frankly, that's all that needs to be shared. I could tell you all about how my sister was home for the weekend with a friend, and it was just the three of us, and someone locked the knob even though we only ever lock the dead bolt, or how the dogs decided to run away, or how I thought it was wise to shower but not-quite-completely-towel-dry before letting them out, or how the garage door keypad malfunctioned two times that morning but then never again for the past 72 hours, or how much dog hair clings to still-quite-wet flesh as you attempt to clutch them against your chest as a shield from the cold and as (frankly) a bit of nipple (is that word allowed here?) coverage while hobbling barefoot through your mulch and side yard woods wearing a towel on your head. I could admit that this happening once was bad enough but repeating the entire process not more than 6 minutes later was nearly mortifying. I could also explain that I was terrified and had convinced myself that the same rapist serial killer that I had spent 2 hours watching on 48 Hours Hard Evidence the night before was watching me and lurking in wait, which actually made me sort of run-hobble (rubble? robble?) through the sticks and brush to the safety of my quite well locked home. Instead, I'll just reiterate that on Sunday morning at 6:30 I got locked out of the house. Twice. Naked. With a towel turban on my head. And there's a perfectly good explanation for it.