TravelChick

A V. Bridget Jones Day

Last week I went out to dinner with my cousin and his wife and my friend Nic. We split a few bottles of wine, ate some good food, and by the time we were done it was around 10.30 (disasterously late for London, I feel). My cousin and his wife kindly offered to let me spend the night at their place, since I would otherwise have a long train ride home. I happily accepted (I love their place. It's a spacious loft with a lot of good light), said goodbye to Nic, and we headed home.

We sat around chatting for a while once we got home. Before they both turned in they happily mentioned that they now have a spare set of keys, so, although they were both leaving for work around 7, I could leave whenever I wanted and just drop the keys in their mailbox.

I woke up sometime around 9, showered, and then headed downstairs to check my e-mail and grab some music my cousin had recommended. Feeling peppy and generally full of goodness from having had a really nice evening, I grabbed the keys and tried to get out. The top lock was locked, but I couldn't open it. I tried both keys. No luck. Then I somehow managed to get a key stuck in the bottom lock. I strained to get it out and broke the metal key ring it was on. At this point I realized I was in trouble.

I called Nic and explained what had happened. 'You're locked *in*?' he said incredulously. 'This is great!' He sweetly offered to come down to Brixton and try to help me get out. 'Are you going to stand on the other side of the door and watch me struggle?' I asked wryly. I thanked him for his offer and said that I thought it would be a little pointless. He told me to try watching tv for a bit and then try wrestling with the keys after half an hour or so, that maybe I would have a better perspective on the situation once I had managed to concentrate on something else.

I called my cousin to ask him if he had used the keys before. 'Loads of times', he said. Then he said 'Little key goes in the top lock, big one in the bottom one.' I looked at the keys. The little key was stuck in the bottom lock. I couldn't tell him what I had done. I hung up and called Nic again.

'I got the wrong key stuck in the lock,' I hiccuped through tears. 'I'm such an idiot!' He started laughing. 'It's not funny', I said. 'I know', he said. He told me a story about how he was out driving and got pulled over by a cop on a horse. It made me feel a bit better. 'You have to call your cousin,' he said.

Before I could pull myself to call him, though, my cousin called and asked me if I had managed to get out. 'Er, no,' I said. I explained the bit about having the wrong key stuck in the lock. He gave me directions to another set of keys, I managed to put the correct key in the correct lock, open the door, and, apologizing profusely, I ended my conversation with him.

Outside the house, I called Nic again, sniffling. 'I'm out,' I said. 'Yay!' he cried. 'I'm such a moron,' I said. 'Well, at least your cousins got a good story.' Yes, they did.

posted by Travel Chick @ 5:51 PM