Hello Match.Com – Do You Have A Nice Jewish Locksmith Available?
I am heading back to Match.Com. Chances are I will not meet my Beshert online. I will keep trying, but my hopes are realistic. That said, someone really great wrote me today on Match and I’m excited about the possibility of having a date with him.
He sent me a note saying he thought my profile looked interesting and if I’d like to chat to get in touch. He is handsome and seems quite lovely. Rather than write back immediately on my phone, I decided to relax and respond to his message when I got home. I finished work, ran to the market, put gas in my car, and thought about what to write back.
When I got home I unloaded the groceries from my car and headed into my building. My mother called as I got on the elevator and we started chatting. My mom cracks me up and is awesome. We are chatting, I’m fumbling with all the bags but manage to get to my door without dropping anything. I put everything down, get me keys out of my jacket pocket and when I go to open the door, the key does not work.
I am now annoyed. I keep trying to open the door as if for some reason I am simply putting the key in the wrong way. In my frustration I am knocking and ringing the doorbell, which is ridiculous as the only person who would answer the door during the day is me. I call the super to see why my locks have been changed, but there is no answer.
I now want to start crying. I’m tired, the groceries need to go in the fridge, my key won’t work, it’s raining out and all I want to do is be inside my home. I gather up my bags and head back to the elevator. I’m thinking I will drive over to a friend’s house, through my things in her fridge, and convince her to have a glass a wine with me in the middle of the day.
The super will be home at some point and when she gets my message, asking her why my locks have been changed without my knowledge, she will feel horrible for the imposition and rush up to help me get inside. I am waiting for the elevator and it’s not coming to I opt for the stairs as I’m so frustrated that just standing there is annoying.
I walk down the stairs and as I reach the bottom I realize that something is wrong. I have not gone down enough flights to make sense. As I hit the bottom step I decide to sit down because I am laughing so hard I think I might drop my bags and break the eggs. It turns out that I just tried to break into the apartment directly below mine.
When I got home, and was chatting with my mom, I got off on the wrong floor. I was ringing the doorbell and pounding the door of an apartment that was not mine. Thank goodness they were not home. I would have been mortified is they had been there and probably would have peed myself if someone opened the door as I thought it was my apartment.
I am now safely in my apartment. I left an appropriately apologetic voicemail for my super, have a gorgeous pot of soup on the stove, am wearing a comfy pair of pajamas at 5:00 in the afternoon, have opened a fabulous bottle of wine, spoke with my son who is hanging with his dad for the night, am happy to be home, logging onto Match, and keeping the faith.