The tale of a bathroom, a wasp's nest and a malfunctioning door lock.

Once upon a time, there lived a girl who was a huge Chicago Cub fan. From her first game at the tender age of seven, she was in love with the Cubs and Wrigley Field. Always a loyal girl, she stuck with her Cubbies through years and years of last minute chokes and endless losing streaks. Which is how our heroine's bad night started on Saturday.
Now, perhaps if she wasn't in such a foul mood over the Cubs going down in three strait games, she would not have slammed the bathroom door with such vigor that night. And the door lock might not have jammed into the locked position. And she might not have been hopelessly trapped in a bathroom full of wasps (living and dead) in the wee hours of the morning.
But trapped she was, and frenzied into a claustrophobic panic, she began to rip the bathroom apart in search of some kind of a tool that would break the lock, unscrew the doorknob or just bash the door down. At this point, our heroine was not picky. But she was out of luck- there were no tools.
But fear not- our heroine had another plan! Carefully picking her way barefoot through the graveyard of wasps, she climbed onto the toilet and squeezed through the window. Though the original plan was to scale down the logs, our clumsy heroine lost her footing and tumbled 12 feet onto her rear end.
Fortunately, a friend had crashed out on her couch after the baseball game and let her back into the house with minimal mocking. He then proceeded to climb back through the bathroom window, and with the strength born from years of opening pickle jars for distressed women, managed to wiggle and slam the door until it opened. He then cautioned her NOT TO SHUT THE DOOR AGAIN until it had been fixed. Our heroine nursed her bruised ego with a chocolate chip cookie.
Now, if Monday hadn't been such a long, trying day, she might not have been quite so annoyed when she started searching for clean towels. The cats howling for their dinner might not have frazzled her nerves quite so much. And she might not have panicked quite as bad when she saw more dead wasps on the floor; she certainly would not have slammed the bathroom door BEHIND her in an effort to keep the cats from stepping on or eating the dead wasps. But slam the door she did.
Always the optimist, she quickly evaluated the pros. THIS time, she had shoes on. This time, she had her cell phone. And then she evaluated the many con's while desperately slamming her body into the door, trying to re-create whatever combination of masculine energy had scared the door into opening the last time. Cuz it sure as hell didn't want to open for her. So, again, she picked her way through the wasp graveyard and jumped back out the window. Again, she lost her footing and slammed back into the house instead of launching away from it. At least this time, she landed on her feet.
After narrowly escaping being attacked by her own dog, who apparently is very protective of the house, especially when a disheveled figure thumps out of a window and starts creeping towards the front door in the dark, she discovered that she was in deeper shit that she had first imagined. Perhaps if she had known that her dog would never let a strange person get to the front door, she wouldn't have locked it. And the back door. And all the windows. (Except the bathroom window, which really didn't help the situation). And so the phone calls looking for help began. As did the mocking. "I told you not to close that door again!" "Didn't you learn to keep tools in there the last time???" "Do you really think closing doors when you are alone in the house is necessary???" Such abuse for someone who was only trying to protect her poor, innocent cats!
Finally, she was able to get ahold of her cousin. Yes, cousin did have the key. Yea, cousin was planning to stay there tonight. Yes, she was on her way now.... from one state over! So, our poor, disheveled and exhausted heroine curled up on the front porch for hours, hoping that her trusty dog would have the same reaction to coyotes as she'd had to seeing her owner in the dark.
By the time she was able to crawl into her own warm bed, our heroine had come up with her own line of bathroom survival kits.

"Bathroom Survival Kits... It Ain't Just Double-Ply Toilet Paper Anymore!"