I live with a criminal mastermind

I was crouched down in the hall using an unwound paperclip to fiddle with the bathroom doorknob. Someone had locked the door, but no one was inside. Of course, both children implied the other one had locked the door from the outside. It didn’t really matter who did it, I just needed in there.

I cursed when the stupid paperclip bent again and I was denied access. I stood up and stared at the locked door.  All right, what did I really need in there for? We have another bathroom, but it’s the scary “boys” bathroom. The 2^nd bathroom has a shower, but none of my stuff is in there so I couldn’t wash my hair or face. Well, maybe I could forgo the shower for this morning.  I glanced at my hair in the mirror in my bedroom.  Surprisingly, it wasn’t too bad, which was a damn good thing because the hair implements are behind the locked door.  I would have access to no hairspray or gel, blow dryer or curling iron.  I supposed if I looked around the house, I would find a hair tie or two.

I continued to stare at the locked door.  I debated removing the doorknob all together but that seemed rather excessive since I knew My Honey would be able to unlock the door when he got home tonight.

Crap. My toothbrush and deodorant were in there.  That was bad. I have a spare toothbrush at work and some deodorant as well. I guessed I’d just resist breathing on anyone until I got to work and could perform some basic toiletries.

I jiggled the knob again.  Nope.  No spontaneous unlocking had occurred.

My makeup was behind the door. I would have to resign myself to going to work with no shower, odd hair (nothing new there really) and no makeup except the mascara left over from yesterday.

“Whatcha doin’?” The Bandit asked strolling down the hall brandishing a Prince of Persia sword.

“Coming to grips with my life.” I sighed and let my shoulders droop in defeat.

“You want in there?” he asked, nonchalant.

“Yes.” I bent and peered hopelessly into the tiny hole in the knob that confounded me so. The Bandit reappeared at my side.  I hadn’t even noticed he’d left. He held a very skinny screwdriver in his little fist.

“I’ll do it,” he said and pushed me aside.

I looked at him skeptically and breathed a heavy sigh. I glanced at the dog sleeping in the hall and hated him for a moment because he didn’t worry about silly things like cleanliness and fresh breath.

No less than three seconds later, The Bandit swung the door open, a satisfied grin on his face. “There you go. No problem, Mom.”

I blinked at the light streaming out of the bathroom. I didn’t know what to say. How does a mother comment when faced with her six year old son’s lock picking expertise?

“Why can’t you remember to flush the toilet when you use it?”