Lock, Lock, Locked Out of My Apartment

The lock on my door sticks. I've been having minor problems with it for months, but I've never not been able to get the door open--until last night.

I returned from trivia night and a beer afterwards at about 11 pm, with 2 pans of cupcakes in hand, only to find that my door refused to open. After about 10 minutes of every bit of strength I had, several expletives, and my hands becoming raw with pain, I called blog partner. I had a sinking feeling she wouldn't answer, and she did not.

Not wanting to pay for a locksmith and frankly embarassed about the whole situation, I swallowed my feminist pride and called JG, who was with a young male R legislator we had just had a beer with. They came to my rescue.

Thankfully, young R was not able to just push the door open with the greatest of ease. But he did, eventually, manage to get the door unlocked.

I thought to myself, this is why it would be good to have a boyfriend around. Then I thought, screw that, I'll just get a new lock for my door.