Locked out, but with plenty to eat

Yesterday Husband and I were in charge of bringing donuts to our after-church “coffee and donuts” gathering. The purchasing of the donuts is a story of its own. [I’ll just say this: If you’d like to get a little extra attention in the grocery store, fill your cart up with 10 boxes of a dozen donuts, until your cart is full of nothing but donuts…and the spinach you needed for dinner. Then enjoy the puzzled stares.] The backseat of the car was already loaded with the donuts yesterday morning. We just had to get in the car and go to church. Husband was the first out the door, and he turned the lock on the way out. Before I pulled the door shut I asked him, “Do you have your keys?” “Yep,” he replied. I pulled the door shut, and then I heard “uh-oh.” “I don’t have the keys,” he said. I knew he was kidding because he pulls this joke at least once a week. “Haha,” I said. “Now, let’s go.” He fumbled in his pockets, and the look on his face (and the cursing that followed) showed he wasn’t kidding. Our house keys and car keys were locked inside the house. And somehow we had to get to church, especially to bring the donuts. (Because “coffee and donuts” without donuts is just “coffee.” And I couldn’t do that to our fellow church-goers.) We both tried to figure out ways to get in. Husband pushed on the door a few times to see if it would budge. Nothing. I offered to call a friend in our neighborhood that goes to our church, but Husband said to let him try a few more things. Then he walked around to our front door to see if it was open. Nope. Finally, Husband said, “Let me try this trick I’ve seen before.” He put a credit card on the side of the door and pushed, and the door opened. He grabbed his keys, and we left in the car. (I’m not even going to address why we bother locking our doors if anyone with a credit card could get in. I’d like to live under the delusion that we are safe and secure inside our locked home.) We made it to church, though a little later than we wanted, with the donuts in hand. But, on the car ride there, I turned to Husband and said, “Sweetie?” “Yeah?” he said. “Thanks for the blog material,” I said and smiled. He just smiled and laughed a little, which I think meant, “you’re welcome.”