**I haven’t written one of these in a while, so here’s an overdue less-than-graceful moment! If you want to read about more of my LTG moments, you can find them all archived under the “Life” page via the menu above!**
Let’s talk about that time Darrin found himself locked in our apartment bathroom, shall we?
My bedtime throughout this pregnancy has gotten earlier and earlier as the weeks have gone by; so much so, in fact, that I’m convinced that pregnancy is really just a foreshadowing of old age. I’m mean, we’re talking 7pm, fall-asleep-to-Wheel-of-Fortune snooze-fests.
And poor Darrin, who comes home around 5pm, has all of 2 hours to spend eating dinner and talking with me before I’m asleep drooling on our couch cushions.
(Just living it up in our mid-twenties over here.)
The other night, I woke up around 1am to the sound of what I initially thought was hammering on our kitchen table, and I rolled my eyes as I pushed myself up in bed to see what in the heck Darrin was doing hammering on our kitchen table in the middle of the night. I shouted a groggy but notably annoyed “Darrin?” from the bedroom. Darrin’s response was muffled:
“Gracie? I think I’m locked in our bathroom.”
Rather than hammering, Darrin had been forcefully knocking from the inside of our bathroom for the past ten minutes, trying to wake me up (“without screaming,” he said) so I could help him escape his porcelain prison.
And of course, once this pregnant girl just hears the word “bathroom,” she feels the spirit move and has to GO. So I rolled (literally) out of bed, went to our bathroom door handle to try to open the door from the outside, and discovered (thanks to Darrin’s late-night deductions), that some component inside the door handle had broken. The only way to get him out of the bathroom was to dismantle the entire door handle. Which could only be done from inside the bathroom. And we don’t store our toolbox in our bathroom, folks.
So there we were at 1am. Darrin sitting on one side of the door. Me sitting on the floor outside the bathroom with a toolbox open in front of me. I sleepily tried to slide the right screwdrivers to Darrin underneath the door as I both physically and mentally concentrated on not wetting my pants. Because my goodness did I need to use the restroom.
(And I suppose I was also concerned about Darrin too. Poor guy.)
Thankfully the screwdrivers were able to fit underneath the door, and thankfully it didn’t take us too long to take apart the door handle and grant Darrin his freedom (my bladder did much rejoicing).
If I were to give this story a moral or a tagline, it would be something along the lines of “how reliving to have a marriage grounded in teamwork…”
But maybe we’ll just let it be a memory I hope we don’t have to repeat. 😉