Judge me if you will, but I fancy dressing the way God created us before Adam and Eve began shopping at Abercrombie and Fig. So it should have been no surprise when I found myself in nothing but a towel prancing around a strange neighborhood after locking myself out of the home at which I was house sitting. Yes, I'd been chunky dunking in the pool. After a relaxing, enjoyable time of swimming and solitude, I left the pool to go back into the house—to discover that I'd accidentally locked the door to the house.
Worse, as I glanced through the door window, I could see my cell phone sitting on the kitchen table.
I tightened the towel around me and paraded around the outside of the house and yard searching for an unlocked door, open window, or hidden key I knew wasn't there.
No, this house was locked up tight.
Having no other options, I headed to a neighbor's house, to see if I could find someone to help. No one answered there or at the second house. I figured they either weren't home or were passed out on the floor from laughing at the naked girl in a towel on their front porch.
Finally I stood at door number three in front of a terrified woman. As I begged her to loan me a phone, I realized I knew no phone numbers. They were all stored safely in the speed dial of the cell phone sitting oh so conveniently on the kitchen table. At last I was able to locate someone who knew the home owner's cell phone number, and the home owner held back her laughter long enough to give me the garage code, thus opening the door to my safe haven—and my clothes.1