Dog House

 I’m in the dog house--Big Time.

I was on my way to an early doctor’s appointment when I spotted Aloma on the patio.  She was barefoot, dressed in her nightgown, and checking her I-phone.  I went out to tell her goodbye, left, and without thinking, locked the door to the patio.

She sat on the patio for about 30 minutes, checking her messages, enjoying looking at our plants.  Then she got up to go inside and found the door locked.  She called me, not happy with me.  I was already in the doctor’s office so I told her to go to the front of the house and use the code for our garage door.

My next call came from our neighbor across the street.  “Steve, Aloma is in our house.  You locked her out and the garage door won’t open.”

My appointment was over, so I said, “I’m on my way home.”

When I got back, Mickey and Janet had left for an appointment.  I knocked on their door, and Aloma came out sputtering, “The garage door didn’t work, and I was wandering around the neighborhood, barefoot and in a flimsy nightgown.  I thought the police would show up and take me away.”

The garage keypad didn’t work for me either.  I used the remote to let us in.  Aloma didn’t yell at me about her experience, and she handled it well.

But she said, “Don’t ever do that to me again.”

Seasoned Man

stevelem117@gmail.com