Let me paint a picture for you:
It is pitch dark outside and barely 7pm. My arms are full of groceries, a computer, a random jar of half-eaten peanut butter, and other essential items. I am also on the phone. Did I mention I live in the woods? Like seriously, not even the suburb kind of woods, the straight-up outdoorsy kind of woods. Oh, and all our porch lights are out, because apparently we don't change lightbulbs.
The task: Unlocking the door to my condo. While I have succeeded in climbing the stairs without falling to my death, blindly finding the right key and putting it in the doorknob the right way proves to be more difficult than rocket science. Frustration begins.
First reaction to frustration of being locked out of my house (with the key in my hand), exclaimed to my mother who is still on the line despite the added obstacle of holding a phone to my ear while trying to juggle everything else (and despite the fact that I could have used the phone as a light):
“Dang it! Mom, I’m going to get eaten by a bear!”
Welcome to my new life friends. Truly, it is always this riveting and exciting. Where not finding the right key to the door while holding a jar of peanut butter is truly a life or death situation.
On the next episode hear how I got lost deep in the dark forest of the country clubs for a frightening five minutes before I was rescued by a kind gentleman (ok, ok, fine. I was in a car with someone else and it turns out we really were not that lost at all. But for at least a minute I was sure I was going to have to ration the half-eaten pie for the next few days and figure out how to make a signal fire. The woods and I are just not friends. I blame Flannery O’Connor’s A Good Man is Hard to Find. Stupid short story frightened me of woodsy roads for life).
Geez louise. What a life.