My friend Laura is staying with me for the next few weeks, while she teaches at a summer camp here in Portland. Since I'm not the most organized person, I did not think to get a set of keys to my apartment before she moved in, so loaned her mine, assuming that we'd be able to work it out for a few days until we got the keys copied. I was on a coffee date Monday, and Laura called me ten minutes before the coffee shop closed to tell me she'd left to run an errand. So, instead of waiting around on my porch for half an hour until she got home, I went and got a beer.
Half an hour later, she called me because she couldn't get the door open. (I had at least half a beer in front of me.) Please keep in mind, no one has ever not been able to open this door. She had to come pick me up at the bar, unlock the door for her, then bring me back. Since she didn't know how to get there, I gave her directions. She did not see the sign, drove by it, so I chased her car for three blocks. It didn't help her case that she was holding the key with two hands, two fingers pinching the top and two fingers pinching the bottom.
Apologies for the recent lack of posting, I've been preoccupied with some things. My coworker said that I should write about it, that it'd be very Carrie Bradshaw of me.
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