Locked Out

Coming up the stairs I grumbled like The Old Man in "Christmas Story". I censored the worst of my language since the boy was enjoying breakfast within earshot. (Just like Cosby said parents do... and make themselves sound like complete idiots.)

"What's wrong?" My Beautiful & Dutiful asked.

I barked, "I'm locked out!"

She had no clue if it was her fault. Since I hadn't even left the house and she saw my car keys in their ususal place she couldn't figure out how I managed to lock myself out of anything.

"Locked out??? Locked out of what?"

"My effing pants! At best I probably have five pair. Seven including jeans."

Not only that, but a couple of my fitted dress shirts just don't look as slick as when I bought them last year.

Now I need to get into the Waist Disposal Service.