Just call me Daisy MacGyver

It could have been worse. Much worse, I’ll grant you that. My coworkers shared their own related stories, and all were humorous – well after the fact. While I was in the midst of the situation, I was thinking, “Later, I’ll laugh. Later.”

I got locked in the bathroom this morning. Locked in. Chuck was in Minneapolis, Amigo was sound asleep at the other end of the house, and I had no phone or other means of communication. The doorknob had somehow disconnected from the latch, and no matter how much or how hard I turned, it wouldn’t open.

I solved this in the manner of many female problem-solvers over many years, decades, and even centuries: I broke apart a hair clip and picked the lock. I am woman, hear me roar!

Then I “fixed” it with duct tape and sent Amigo a text message so he would not close the door and get stuck himself.

And then I went to work. Early, as usual. I treated myself to an extra cup of Monday morning coffee, too.

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