No tragically single, cute French fathers in this apartment building

[Blogger had fits this afternoon. I orginally wrote and posted this around 12.30 this afternoon, after which it showed up on my blog but NOT in my list of posts I'd made to the blog and could edit, until just now, when I wrote and posted another post and this one disappeared entirely. Luckily I'd copied it to somewhere else so I don't have to throw my computer across the room now and can just repost it.]

Yesterday I got to sleep around 12.30 on account of having a sore throat and horrible headache. I shut my bedroom door and rolled down the shades on my window (a not inconsiderable task) in the hopes of sleeping past 7. I made it all the way to 8, when the light coming in through the small stained-glass window over my door woke me up. So I got out of bed, went to the bathroom, and shut all the doors into the hall to block out the light coming from the kitchen, bathroom, and Elsa's room.

I went back into my room, sat down on my bed, decided as usual that I JUST COULD NOT TAKE knowing that it was light out and things might be happening and I couldn't see it, and gave up on getting back to sleep. I rolled up the shades, checked my email, and made myself breakfast.

Then I discovered that there's a reason that the knob on the outside of the bathroom door is perpendicular to the knob on the inside of the bathroom door: the knob on the outside is purely decorative. You can turn it all you like and nothing will happen to the door. So I turned the knob for a while, and then I laughed for a while, and then I washed my breakfast dishes.

I entertained thoughts of going and knocking on a neighbor's door and asking for help getting into the bathroom. I'd knock, and some cute French guy, or better yet, some cute French guy with two small children who'd tragically lost his wife in an accident right after the birth of the youngest (and this was a while ago and besides which he hadn't really been in love with her, but he thought he had and consequently was more than ready to come out of mourning even if he didn't know it yet), would answer, and I'd say, My bathroom door is stuck, and he'd say, I'll fix it if you'll watch the children, and I'd say, Children? Hell yes (except I don't really know how to say that in French, which is probably for the best, around such young, impressionable children), and he'd fix the bathroom door and I'd watch the children and then the bathroom door would be fixed but I'd keep watching the children and this would turn into some kind of regular gig and then the cute French guy would fall in love with me, because after all, who wouldn't? and then I'd live with him and the children in France forever. And there would be children. And an accessible bathroom.

But then I thought about what I've seen of the apartment building, and I'm fairly sure there are no single fathers in it. There are definitely some children, and there are definitely some cute French guys, but I'm almost positive that they don't overlap. And I'm not sure I want to deal with the hassle of a French guy unless he also comes with something else good, like children.

So having figured out that it would be a bad idea to knock on somebody's door, I went and fixed the bathroom door myself. It wasn't hard, just involved grabbing a bit of the handle not strictly designed for grabbing and turning that instead of the knobby part. And wouldn't I have felt stupid in front of that cute French guy if I'd asked him for help and it'd turned out easy!