Many moons ago we established that I am prone to what used to be known as my ‘blonde moments’ but got renamed ‘malteser moments’ when I went brunette. I’ve had a few this week.
Last week I returned home one evening to discover I couldn’t get into my house with my key. The reason? The builders had locked our front door but left the key in the lock. Luckily, one of our builders was only just getting into his van and was able to use their back door key to go round and let me in.
The next day I wasn’t so lucky. I’d gotten home later. I had a horrible headache. The builders were gone. They’d left the key in the front door again. And the only key we had for our new back door was inside the house. Sadly (for this circumstance) our house is pretty burglar proof. No windows available to climb through. Thankfully I had credit on my mobile to call my Mum at work.
She had to look up the builders’ number.
For some reason the one she had was the builders’ sister.
Safe to say I was confused when she answered, and she was confused too!
Thankfully she gave me her brother’s number and I got through to him. By this time a hailstorm shower starts so I’ve taken shelter in my car.
1 hour and 15 mins later I finally got into my house thanks to a builder (not happy with his mate who had left the key in the front door right after he said ‘make sure no one has left the key in the front door‘) came to my rescue.
Suffice to say that at the weekend when I was home alone I was totally paranoid about the same thing happening again so I took our back door key on my keychain!
Monday morning comes, and I let the builders in at 8 a.m. and leave for work a hour or so later. It is snowing (yes, snowing) and pouring with rain and they have the front door wide open as they bring in building materials to the guest room.
As I walk out the front door, I yell ‘Now remember not to leave the key in the front door today!‘ and we all laugh, and I get soaked walking to the bus stop.
As I run off the bus and speed walk through the Old Town to my office I go to grab my keys so I have them ready. Sleet is being blown into my face and I’m soggy and cold. I know I have a day filled with clients, and looking forward to rushing home to pick up my car to head to my friends’ house for dinner.
But they aren’t there.
After teasing the builders about locking me out, I’ve now locked myself out of my car, house and workplace in one fail swoop.
Because I haven’t picked up my keys on my way out of the door.
In between appointments I’m frantically texting or calling friends that I can think of that could possibly go round and get my keys from the builders and live somewhere I can get to from work by bus easily. Unfortunately they are all otherwise engaged (and the one person who wasn’t I didn’t think to call forgetting that they wouldn’t be at work in school holidays).
So this is the solution I came up with.
Phoning the head builder to get the numbers of the builders in our house that day. As irony would have it, the one I get a hold of is the one who locked me out the previous week.
I get the builder to hide my main bunch of keys in my car.
And then we come up with a place to hide my spare car key so it 1) won’t get soaked in our lovely Spring weather 2) can’t be found by any potential thieves and 3) will be able to be found by me after work.
The chosen hiding place was a little complicated but I think quite ingenious. I’d tell you, but then I might have to kill ya!
As we’re having this conversation, Sarah is sitting on the other side of the office laughing.
This is a malteser moment of the finest degree, but also where watching NCIS came in really handy.
Thankfully the rest of the week has been mostly malteser moment free, until tonight when I slammed the door of my fridge closed without taking my fingers away from the ?door frame? of the fridge.
In the process I knocked a glass jar of pesto over with a few other food items which clanged loudly on the floor, and I yelled a curse word out (it HURT!) and I’m sad to say no one came running because the other residents of the house were busy arguing over bathroom tiles. Glad I was in any life threatening situation then.
I gave my finger a good bash. Kinda ironic given how often I’m saying ‘Fingers!’ and ‘Watch your fingers!’ to various kiddles every time I see them placing them remotely close to any doors.
Once the bathroom tile drama was over, I did eventually get some sympathy from my mother when she saw my finger.
All I can say is thank God for spare keys and frozen peas.
Oh, and friends that give me keyrings as gifts enabling our builders to easily identify which of the keys were mine.