Fifteen years ago today, I locked myself out of my cute fifth-floor studio apartment. There was no getting into Apartment 517. And the super wasn't home. Nor were any of the neighbors that I knew.
And who the hell had a cell phone back then?? Certainly not a low-level corporate peon.
The only neighbor that I knew of that was home was The Cute Guy Down The Hall In Apartment 507. I had chatted with him only briefly a few months earlier. Afterwards, I had thought, "He seems nice. And I need some new friends. I bet if he has a girlfriend that she would be really nice to know too."
I was beyond embarrassed to stand there in the hallway at his door, feeling idiotic about being locked out.
He opened the door to what he referred to later as a "gift from heaven dropped on my doorstep." Except that I was in gym clothes, in dire need of a shower after having just worked out at the corporate fitness center after an already-long day at the office. Ponytail, mascara to my chin, the whole nine.
The Cute Guy Down The Hall In Apartment 507 babysat me and chatted me up until the super came home.
The Rest, as they say, Is History.
Love you, Urban Dad!
(more of a post soon, but strep has come for an extended stay to the urban household -- u-dad is the only man standing the last several days)