The story that’s not at all related to me sitting on a box tying my shoe:

Today I was asked to get in the back of a police vehicle.⁠
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(This is not a picture of that; I simply didn’t take a picture of this moment.)⁠
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I arrived home from coaching class sweaty and ready for a shower. With my arms full, I tried to enter the house from the garage. Locked.⁠
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My garage has two entrances into the house because of how it’s laid out.⁠
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I went to the second, main, entrance. Deadbolt.⁠
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WTH??? Why am I locked out of my home when no one is there? How did these doors get locked?⁠
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Mildly panicked, I call my husband. (Note: starting with “I don’t want to freak you out but…” isn’t really fair.)⁠
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While on the phone with him, I see our local sheriff’s car drive by.⁠
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So I drop my stuff and walk down a block to where he is parked.⁠
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I explain my predicament. He smiles, invites me in the car and drives me to my house. I couldn’t point to where it was because the plexiglass stopped my finger. That was a first (along with being in the back of a police car.)⁠
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He tries one of the doors, and voila! It opened. 🤦‍♀️⁠
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I guess it wasn’t really locked. My elbow just didn’t do a good job of opening it.⁠
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He offers to walk through the house anyway and came back to get me a few minutes later. No signs of forced entry and all seems fine.⁠
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I felt sheepish and grateful. He was gracious and kind.⁠
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But I still can’t figure out how the other door was locked!! 🤷‍♀️⁠