It all started with a text message.
The Boy: Showered, teeth brushed, hair done, and dressed?
Cicada: Showered (last night), teeth brushed, hair in bandanna, sweat pants. Life is good.
As I was musing upon the fact that I am so much more productive now that I have basically no interruptions during my workday, the doorbell rang. I am always fascinated when I'm home and the doorbell rings. It's like my house has this secret life that I've never known about where people come over during the day, ring my doorbell, and don't leave a note. I had to know who was there.
I opened the door, and there stood The Boy (who lives in Salt Lake, and I live in Springville, so this wasn't quite expected). Pretty much the first thing he said was that we clearly don't like to deal with wasps nests, and pointed out the two obvious ones above our door.
I came outside to see everything more clearly and said, "Those are unoccupied, but this one has some activity," and I pointed to the wasp's nest near an electrical outlet. The Boy said, "Well that's easy to take care of" and promptly kicked the plastic covering on the electrical outlet.
And then I scurried to the door.
And I tried to open it.
But I failed.
Because I had locked myself out.
[I got into the habit of locking my door at all times in college, and now I can't open my door without immediately locking it again unconsciously.]
So there I was, locked outside with my little brother. At least I was showered and my teeth were brushed. But I was wearing a bandanna, sweatpants, and no shoes.
(Barefoot and pregnant? Yes and yes.)
Well, so much for my productive day without interruptions. Instead of visiting inside the house, The Boy and I enjoyed one another's company on our ride to Murray's work to pick up his copy of the house key. But hey, I saw a bald eagle for the first time in Utah on our way, so I'm thinking there might have been a divine hand in all of this after all.