Aaah the good ole’ days. Remember when you didn’t lock your door? I don’t remember that. My parents always locked the house doors, and the key was conveniently left for me under the milk box. Milk box? One day, the key wasn’t there so I climbed in the window. When I described to my parents how I scaled the bricks, pried the outer window open with a stick and knocked down the curtains as I jumped triumphantly to the kitchen floor, there was silence. I guess I wasn’t supposed to do that.
My friends in NYC have seven locks on their apartment door. It takes thirty minutes to close up for the night. They had a visitor staying with them who woke up early, went for a walk and she not only didn’t re-lock the prison gate, but she also left the door slightly ajar. You can imagine the confused host. The guest is gone, the door is open, hmmm are you sure I didn’t do that?
It is true, I struggle with locking doors. It comes from a fear of being locked out. Do I have my key? I not only have my key I have one in the car, one out of the car, one in a secret place, a back-up key hidden and one left with a friendly neighbor. I panic if I reach into my purse and can’t immediately grasp my set of keys. I solved that problem and keep my purse keys in a separate zippered pouch. As for car keys, in addition to my key ring, there is a set hidden at home, a back-up in the glove compartment and one hidden in a secret key place that no one knows about but me and my cats.
I am a hoarder of keys. With a can of WD-40 I manage to not be defeated by lock technology, but I panic when I have to open a door with a key. Fear of the unknown maybe? Will it open? Maybe “Yes” and maybe “No.” Maybe I will be LOCKED OUT! This is my excuse for casually walking out of a door without closing or locking it. I have no idea how I became obsessive/compulsive about locks. Because I am lock-a-phobic, I was impressed when I saw a boy open his front door using his thumb print. Wow. No key. No lock. I like that. Do I need a password?
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