August 5

Today, I was walking to Starbucks and talking to my friend Joanna, when I happened to glance down and notice something strange. The front of my white tank top that I was wearing under my shirt looked weird.

Upon closer inspection, I found this:


Oh yes. I was wearing my undershirt backwards.

23 years old and I still can't properly dress myself.

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When I got home today (in the pouring rain, by the way), I was anxious to see how Maggie did on her first day in "jail." After coming home way too many times to urine stains (or worse) on my carpet, I decided it was time to invest in a baby gate. She just couldn't be trusted to roam free when we were gone anymore.

We have a little tiled area at our back door where the gate would fit really well, and it would be better than putting her in a crate. She had plenty of room to move around, and her bed, food, water, and toys would all fit there nicely. In fact, that's where we used to keep our dogs in the summer when I was growing up (they were outside dogs but sometimes it was just tooooo hot).

I could hear Maggie inside as I started to open the door. She was excitedly whining. I turned the handle and pushed.

The door didn't budge.

My initial thought was that Jack set up the gate on the back door, since he leaves out of the front sometimes.

Great, I thought. He locked me out. And I don't even have a key to the house.

Fortunately, my neighbors have a copy of the key, and I was able to get in the front. When I opened the front door, Maggie greeted me excitedly.

"Maggie, what are you doing here? You're not supposed to be out!" I said to her, as I walked to the back door to inspect the damage.

She had knocked down the gate to get out. It was wedged between the opposite wall and the door, and therefore preventing the door from opening from the outside.

My dog locked me out of my own house.

She's an evil genius.