I think my dog secretly hates me

Here's a little hump day humor for ya. After my first week in Rome - starting my new job, settling in to my new apartment, and figuring out the bus and metro schedules - I decided to take it easy during the weekend. I slept in on Saturday and figured I'd clean the apartment before showering and getting ready to go out to Centro Storico. It was a hot day so after a while of cleaning I threw off my robe and continued to sweep in my PJ's (and by PJ's I mean a tank top, no bra, and spandex work out shorts). So, I'm sweeping away and decide to sweep the outside entryway, as well. As soon as I stepped outside, I realized I should let Wauwa out too. He clearly agreed with this sentiment, as seconds later he jumps up against the front door, closing it right in front of my face. Now, let me remind you that I'm basically in my undies, locked out of my apartment, with no keys, no phone, and in a city where I know no one. Didn't help that I was sweaty, greasy haired, and probably looked like a lunatic banging on the door and yelling at Wauwa. I desperately circled my apartment pulling on the bars of my window (as if I was the freaking Hulk who could break metal bars). I begged Wauwa to be a good boy and bring me my phone or keys through the window (too bad they don't teach this at puppy training), but eventually I had to resort to ringing the doorbells of my neighbors.

I don't know if it was my mortifyingly ridiculous appearance or the fact that no one was home, but not one person answered their buzzer. I considered walking over to a cafe or shop close by but, not only would that have been super embarrassing, I would have also been locked out of my yard since our gate is also locked. At this point I figure it's better to just sit in my yard and tan until my roommate gets home, but the moment I pull up a chair, I hear a Harley roll up in front of my building. A man walks through the gate, so I ask him in some weird combination of English, Spanish, and Italian if he could help me out. Nice guy that he is, he gives me his phone, but idiot that I am I have no clue who to call. I obviously haven't memorized my new roommates phone number, nor do I know the number of my landlord, so I ask him if he knows if the number on the front gate is for the building's maintenance guy. It is not. Maybe I can find my roommate on facebook, I think, but Mr. Harley doesn't have FB on his phone. Well, seeing my desperation, he invites me in and let's me use his computer. As I scramble to find ANYONE that could help me on FB (nope, I did not know my roommates last name and nope, my landlord doesn't have a facebook profile), my man offers to make me lunch. I try to be polite and decline, but let's be real, at this point I'm starving, so when he insists who am I to say no. So, as I complain to my mom online that I'm screwed, Mr. Harley makes us a nice pasta, all the while calling locksmiths to see if someone could come get me in. Apparently, no one works on Saturdays.

After a somewhat awkward lunch (read: me constantly repositioning my hair to try to cover my inappropriate appearance while rambling on about my life to this man who doesn't speak English), I have the bright idea to log into my iCloud to get my roommates phone number (yes, yes, I should have thought of this sooner). Of course, nothing can be simple, so I have to change all my passwords before finally being able to log in. Finally, I got a hold of my roommate who, an hour and an espresso later, came to open the door. So, Roberto, if you somehow end up reading this, thank you, thank you, thank you!

Moral of the story: always bring your dog out with you or they will get revenge by locking you out.

P.S. The next day I fell down a flight of stairs and probably broke some bones since they still kind of hurt. Again, because of Wauwa.

#dogs #humor