Not much humor to be found there, I'm afraid. Right up there with root canals and flight delays.

I have, however, been getting a few complaints about my uncharacteristic silence.

One of my many fans (who wishes to remain nameless, so to respect his anonymity I'll just refer to him as "Dad") is sending me emails such as:

"I heard the baby locked you in the bathroom!"

and,

"Don't you think it would be funny to blog about how the baby locked you in the bathroom?"

I emailed back, and coldly told him that (a) it was sadistic for him to take such pleasure in my imprisonment, and (b) if he thought it was so funny, maybe I should get Sam to lock HIM in the bathroom on his next visit.

And it's not like the story is even all that funny.

Here's what went down: I went into the guest bathroom, closing the door behind me. When I tried to exit, I realized Sam had come along, and opened the accordian door in the hallway outside the guest bathroom (you have to open the accordian doors in order to access the laundry facilities and the area where we store Sam's beloved Swiffer mop). Because the door to the guest bath opens out into the hallway, the open accordian door prevented me from being able to get out of the bathroom.

Meaning I was basically locked inside . . . just one more victim of an obsessed toddler's quest to get ahold of cleaning implements.

So I did what any reasonable woman would do under the circumstances: I began to scream for George. And scream. And scream some more. Because for some reason, it took him FIVE FREAKING MINUTES to hear me.

Our conversation when he finally did get me out of there went something like this:

Me: Why did it take you so long?

George: I only just heard you.

Me: How is that possible? I was screaming at the top of my lungs!

George: What, do you think I heard you screaming, and decided to leave you locked in there?

Me: {muttering} Huh. Wouldn't surprise me one bit.

Funny stuff, no?

Maybe tomorrow I can blog about how I stubbed my toe on the leg of our kitchen table.