The lock on our new apartment is a hazard. You have to use a key to deadbolt it from the inside. Let's say for the sake of argument you can't find your keys when you wake up- you would be locked inside the apartment. K- finds it humor that I'm bothered by this "He has a fear of fire" she will tell anyone who has bothered to remain friends with us. I don't fear fire I have a healthy respect for it. The house I grew up in caught on fire twice, both times on my birthday- age 2 and age 13- I don't want to draw parallels between myself and Harry Potter- but it's obvious I’m a wizard with a price on my head. I even have a lightning bolt on my forehead, but I have to re-draw it every time I take a shower. Anyway- my point is if the apartment catches fire I want to be able to get out- and, if I think about it, get my wife and cat out too. So I copied the complicated front door key (17 Euros!!!) and put it in the lock. Yea! My family is safe!!!! Kelly doesn't care- she can be such a muggle sometimes.

I left this morning- the door automatically locked- I put my key in to dead bolt it but the key won’t turn. To make a short story even longer, I'm locked out of the apartment. I'm outside digging through the garbage looking for anything that will help me jimmy the lock. Isn't it funny how all guys think they are MacGyver in these situation and use words like "jimmy the lock". I can't jump start a car but I think I can build a nuclear device from scraps in recycling. The guardian of the building says- "Maybe you can use something off this rusty old bike- it was abandoned” I look at the bike- the chain is broken, it's completely rusted, the seat is missing but the bell works.
"Wow, can I have it!"
"Sure you can" she says almost as enthusiastically as me.
This day is looking up- I've been given lemons and I'm making me a little lemonade.

I yank a spoke off the wheel (which took about an hour) and try to jamb it in the lock- amazingly, that doesn't work- now I'm out of ideas. The guardian informs me that a guy in the building had to have a locksmith come over and let him in, replace the lock etc it cost 1000 euros! She studies my reaction as she tells the story- she wants to memorize the look of terror in my eyes. She then asks what I intend to with the rusty bike- I think she is suggesting that she doesn't want it on the property and would like me to remove it.

I assess my situation. I'm locked out of my apartment, and I now own a rusty bicycle that will never, ever be fixed. It seems bleak. In a fit of exacerbation I did the only thing I could do at the time and I grabbed the doorknob of my apartment and shook it as hard as I could, back and forth. My little kitty, crying on the other side of the door. I heard a thunk, a clank and a sad yelp. The key fell out of the lock on the inside of the door, bounced off my kitty's head and onto the floor. I stepped in to my apartment vowing to never leave again, but I think to myself- "I bet I could fix up that old bike and make it better than new."

*Ponette and I survive another brutal day in Paris- and I'm growing beard (in the loosest sense of the word) because looking scruffy in Paris encouraged and admired