On a Rainy Mishap . . . or On Stress 2

 Today's contemplation begins with a (rather long-winded) story:

       I had my afternoon planned: once I got home from work, I'd eat soup, change clothes, grocery shop, shower, and visit a friend in the hospital.  The first couple items on the list went smoothly, but upon stepping outside into the chilly, storm-portending wind with my grocery bags, I locked and closed the door behind me . . . realizing a moment later that my wallet was still inside.  This was swiftly followed by the realization that so were my keys.  . . . Along with my phone, a pat on my pockets confirmed.
       I dithered on the back stoop, facing first the alley, then the door--back and forth with the futile hope that the former would show my husband, Joel, driving up or that the latter would mysteriously unlock itself.
       Not unexpectedly, neither occurred.
       I hesitated to trouble my neighbors but decided that was the best course.  A brick served to anchor my bags from the caprice of the wind, and a few knocks and a sheepish explanation later, my neighbor kindly lent me her phone.  I stood, with increasing embarrassment, inside her door as I called first one number set and then another, neither the correct one to reach my husband.  (I'm not the first to remark that conveniences such as cell phone contact lists have diminished the modern human's capacity for and interest in memorization.)  I smiled at the neighbor's fat orange tabby wriggling happily under my free hand while I called Mom, who obligingly reminded me of the correct order of digits in Joel's number.  I called, diffidently relayed the predicament I'd gotten myself into, and was gratified to hear he'd just gotten off work and would soon be home.
      "Do you have a place to sit out of the rain?" he asked solicitously, since it was raining where he was just over twelve blocks away. 
      "Oh, it's not raining here," I responded.  "I'll be fine."
      No sooner did I hang up and return the phone did I see the first few sprinkles wet the sidewalk.  Well, a little rain wouldn't hurt me.  I returned to the back stoop to sit, holding the grocery bags above my head as I alternately exclaimed as I shivered at the chill wind and looked up to enjoy the leaf-fringed view of the diminishing cloud cover and descending raindrops . . . which soon morphed into increasing cloud cover and a continuous downpour that soon soaked every part of my clothes not protected by my hunched body and shielding grocery bags.  Despite my shivers, I laughed at the lightning, enjoying the sight and sound of so much water spread in so incredibly many little drops and falling with such petite yet awe-inducing kinetic force on the leaves and sidewalk.  My prayers vacillated between "Praise God!" and "Please expedite Joel's arrival!"
      Joel eventually pulled up in his parking spot.  He hastily disembarked and jogged up to me, lunch pail and pay stub envelope in his hand.  Seeing his approach, I stood and retrieved the litter I'd been eying from my dry seat, which until then I'd too reluctant to abandon my perch to retrieve.
      "You won't believe what's happened," Joel said with a large smile.  I wondered why he stopped by my side instead of opening the door as he spoke.  His next words answered my question: "I locked my keys in my car!  And the engine's still running."
      What could I do but shake my head and chuckle helplessly?  We debated what to do amid rueful laughter and soon retreated to our neighbor's covered front porch where Joel--who did have his phone--called our rental company, which keeps a spare key.  I must admit, we were rather cheerful and goofy as we waited in the cold, which Joel teasingly (but sincerely) insisted felt wonderful and I teasingly (but sincerely) insisted felt frigid.  He warmed my hands and told me about his day.  I kissed him and remarked how his curls seemed to want to imitate the shape of the brim under which they peeked.
      Soon enough, the owner of the rental company came out (avoiding eye contact, looking rather grumpy, and refusing to acknowledge either our apologizes or our thanks) to nevertheless kindly unlock our front door.  The rain had abated by this point, but we still entered wet through.
      Our adventure had not quite ended, however, for we were reminded inside that my key chain did not have Joel's car key on it; it had at some point gone missing.  Thus, I fished out our only metal coat hanger (plastic ones only have drawbacks in such cases as this), and Joel picked the lock on his car in record time.  Together, then, we made our way to the grocery store where Joel was absolutely helpful, charming, complimentary, and as lovey-dovey as one can properly be in a public place.  :)  (I could go into raptures about his sparkling eyes, spicy gaze, and the way his adorable cheeks positively glow when he gives me one of his loving, ornery smiles . . . but, alas, that would rather sidetrack from the point of this post and might venture into too-intimate territory.  But, oh! how I love him!)  The subsequent hot shower felt delightful, and I enjoyed a good hospital visit with my coworker.  In essence, it's been an excellent day. 

      Now, ignoring the above narrative, I ask the reader to consider this: how would you expect one to feel after being locked out of one's house without a phone or wallet, forgetting the phone number of the one who could help, waiting in an ever-increasing downpour with goosebumps from the cold, having the one who could help then lock his own keys in his car, having to trouble the grumpy landlady to help, then discovering upon going inside that one doesn't have the car key and must break into the vehicle?  Does this seem a naturally delightful situation, or one that you would expect to induce bitter frustration, stress, or discouragement?  I expect the answer goes without saying.  Thus, this afternoon has provided yet more evidence (as if we needed any) that attitude more than circumstance determines one's happiness or lack thereof.