Just so you know. . .

We’re heading to the States in a few weeks (or 18 days, as Mom informed me this morning). Unfortunately, we’re missing the Krystal Square Off, so there will be no video of Scott taking part in a hamburger eating contest this year. I know, we’re as devastated as you are about this turn of events. I might just have to film him practicing at home. Just in case you forgot how fun that was, I’ll leave it for your viewing pleasure (high qualities copies available upon request):

If you want anything from the States, we’re taking requests now.

Breaking and Entering

Do you know what it feels like to hear keys in your front door when the only other person with a set is sitting beside you inside your home?

I don’t, but I’m fairly certain the people living a few storeys below us do. Let me tell you about my dalliance with crime just this weekend past. There I was, the only person riding the lift when the doors opened, so out I got. It was weird because I knew something was wrong even before my key felt odd going into the lock, and when it failed to turn the matter was settled.

I looked up, and to my horror saw the number on the door … several floors below my own. I made a hasty retreat back to the lift, not daring to look back in case a very scared neighbour peered out to see who was trying to rob them.

This is an incredibly freakish occurrence because being a secure building, it is impossible for anyone to visit any floor other than their own. What makes it even worse is that I didn’t just get off on the wrong floor and find out at the door. I had actually spent some time looking at doors along the way. 417, 416, 422, 414. “That’s odd” I thought. I double checked, and indeed someone had taken the number from apartment 422 and put it on the door to 415.

Not once did it occur to me in all this that I did not live on the fourth floor. Needless to say I was more flush from embarrassment as I told Amanda of my folly than I was from the quick getaway required to preserve my innocence.