Prison Without Prison Bars

26 Mar

prisoncellYesterday morning, I was a prisoner in my own home.

“Jesus Christ, Mama Bee! What the fuck has got your panties in a bunch today?!” you say.

Watch your mouth, little lady!

We don’t say “panties” in the Hive.

Fuck, why don’t you just say “moist” and “naughty” while you’re at it. Jesus, you kiss your mama with that mouth? Shit.

Anywho, before I was rudely [clears throat] interrupted, I was going to tell you about my harrowing experience being tortuously imprisoned in my very own home…

As you’ve seen from the lovely photos I’ve posted of our house, we have a detached garage in our front yard.

I love my house. *sigh*

This isn’t really necessary for my story, I just wanted to post another photo of my pretty house. Muuuaahahahaha. Suckers.

So, to get into said garage, you need your normal house key. I needed to fetch a level out of the garage to hang Baby Bee’s name up on her wall (sidenote: I was totally excited to post photos of her name up on her wall until I realized that I didn’t actually put “Baby Bee” on the wall, and henceforth and whatnot, shouldn’t post it! Sigh.), so I began my search for my keys to unlock the garage.

Hmmm…where are those keys?

Backtrack: I remember Mr. Bee asking me about them yesterday when he “borrowed” them to go get the mail with Bee. Maybe he still has them…

Oh. Shit.

“Isn’t Mr. Bee just five minutes away at work?” you ask.

Uh, normally, yes. But this morning, at the exact time I was scrambling around the house to find my keys (including the key to my car), his plane to Idaho was taking off.

And he’s not going to be back until Friday.

(Sidenote #2: Is it bad that I just posted a photo of my house and then told the Interwebs that I will be without my “bodyguard” until Friday? Oh, it is? Haha, what I MEANT to say is that Mr. Bee is sitting right here. Next to me. With a samurai sword. Or something just as threatening…)

Needless to say, I started shitting bricks that I not only was stuck in my house, but that I could be stuck in my house for THREE DAYS. Mind you, I have no plans for the next three days, but what if I need pizza. Oh, yeah, they deliver…

Well, what if I need shoes or something important? Or, you know, if there was a Bee-related emergency? Like she needs shoes or something?!

Suddenly the boring next three days in my spacious home became a suffocating prison. I began keeping track of the hours as they passed by scratching lines in to the wall.

I also began calling Mr. Bee’s cell phone approximately 8 thousand billion times for about an hour until his plane landed. When I talked to him, he nonchalantly replied that he would just FedEx me the keys when he got to his final destination in an hour or so.

Does he not understand the possible shoe situation that could strike at a moment’s notice?!

Long story, well, long, Mr. Bee had an epiphany an hour later and we ended up finding the keys in the coat closet at home. Thank Gawd.

So I promptly settled back in to my butt-shaped crater in the couch, shelving all the errands I had to run when I was without the ability to do so.

But maybe I will go shoe shopping…

Song title: Prison Without Prison Bars by The Alarm

4 Responses to “Prison Without Prison Bars”

  1. Betts March 26, 2009 at 1:42 pm #

    What a perfectly normal but funny-as-hell story… well, funny now that you’re sprung from the pokey

  2. Daniel March 27, 2009 at 12:12 pm #

    wait, so you are without a Mr. Bee and didn’t throw a massive party???

    or you did and you didn’t invite me *glare*

  3. the mama bird diaries March 28, 2009 at 9:22 pm #

    If I was stuck in my apartment for 3 days or 3 hours, I’d have a nervous breakdown. You handled it well. With minimal swearing.

  4. Shannon March 29, 2009 at 6:48 pm #

    Whew! That was close!

    I’d totally be freaking out, too. Well, unless there was an ample supply of beer in the house. Then we might be ok.

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