I took the trash out and almost went with it

Listen up, men with a girlfriend or wife: never, ever, ever criticize your significant other's outfit. If you have anything less than positive to say about something she's wearing, punch yourself in the head before you open your dumb yap. With any luck, it will alter what comes out for the better.

Yesterday my wife had to leave for a hair appointment. The trash needed taken out (it has always been my job to take out the trash; probably because I relate to it more than she does), so I followed her out the door on her way to the car.

As she walked away, I asked--and this is where I should have punched myself in the head--"Are you going to wear those pants?" I don't know what I was thinking; the pants looked fine, I just hadn't seen them before. Let's just say it wasn't the time or the place for such a critique. She drove off, probably furious for having married such an idiot.

As I stood in the middle of our condo's parking lot, feeling like a jerk, I realized the door was locked and I didn't have the house keys. It was the middle of the afternoon on a Saturday, and I hadn't showered or shaved. An October chill was in the air, and I was just wearing pajama pants, a t-shirt, and flip flops.

To make matters worse, right before I followed my wife out the door I had thrown a burger on the George Foreman grill. It was going to be more than well done.

I decided to go sit in my car and wait it out--I'd let the burger turn into jerky. I sat in the driver's seat for about 15 minutes, wishing I knew how to hot-wire a car so I could at least have the radio for comfort. Luckily I found a tin of mints in the center console, and found solace in them.

Then I started to wonder how long a hair appointment normally lasts. An hour? Two hours? A day? (Note: I've rocked a buzz cut for the past three years, so I have no idea how long it takes to cut hair when scissors are involved.)

Deciding I needed to do something about my situation, I got out of the car and walked back up to the front door. I thought about going in a window, but we live on the third floor. And flip flops aren't great for scaling the side of a building. A mishap would mean an 18-foot fall.

I started knocking on neighbor's doors. A nice couple that lives across from us was home and took me in. They let me watch TV in their living room, in all of my just-got-out-of-bed glory, until my wife got home. Luckily there was enough love in her heart to let me back in the house.

I like to think that I've learned a few lessons from this experience; 1.) A burger is no good after an hour and a half on the Foreman, 2.) Shower and get dressed in the morning, even if you're not going anywhere, 3.) Say nothing but complimentary things to your wife--and be extra kind because without her you're nothing more than the trash you just took out.