Periodically the handle on our bathroom door ( which we inherited with the house) falls off and needs to be screwed back on. Last week it fell off but this time refused to screw back on. Dennis wanted to go out at once and buy a new handle but I wouldn't let him, because I wanted to choose matching handles for all the doors off the landing, and I wasn't ready to do that until we got the planned decorating done. So, the door has been left slightly ajar with a door wedge in use.
Today, Den went to Manchester all day and I had a bath. I got out of the bath and - oh, the door is closed. Must have been the breeze. Only it would not open. The latch was stuck and no amount of tugging, rattling or poking with toothbrush or hairclip would move it. I assessed my options.
1. Shout for help.
I stood on the loo, poked my head through the little window and yelled for my neighbour. Nothing. Not suprising since his car was not there.
2. Make myself comfy.
I did have an already read copy of Down Under Quilts in there and the catalogue from the African art museum in Paris. But no food (unless you count strawberry shower gel) and about 8 hours to go.
3. Or, ...
...with my bare hands ( and a set of bathroom scales as a weapon). I am woman!