obstacles

This surely would not happen on a normal day. So we're all packed and ready to go, our hearts aflutter in anticipation of the world's most awesome vacation. Rose's lovely and generous mother has just picked us up for the long haul to JFK (why did there have to be so much traffic on a Sunday afternoon anyway?) and we're cruising down Cuyler like rock stars. A couple blocks from home and Rose realizes she left her shiny new Nalgene bottle in our apartment. Panic ensues, but is quickly squashed by the realization that we are merely blocks from home and can easily return to the dollhouse and fetch the bottle. I understand Rose's need for her precious vessel- nothing enhances one's wilderness cred like being seen sipping from a Nalgene, and one of our missions in Iceland happens to be embracing nature and getting dirty in the woods. So Rosalie sprints up the stairs to our home, inserts her key in the lock, turns it and, can you guess what happens next? The key snaps off in the door! Panic ensues once more, but this time the direness of our situation only seems to grow exponentially as the seconds wear on. Do we leave the key as it is, abandoning all hope of drinking water in Iceland, and worst of all resigning ourselves to being locked out of our apartment when we come home? This plan doesn't sit well with anyone. Fortunately Rose and I are able to track down our kindly landlord, who remains chill as Iceberg lettuce while he gathers up random pointy tools while his psychotic tenants follow him around hyperventilating. Like an old pro, he jimmies open the door just in time, and Rose bounds past him to retrieve what has at this point achieved a Holy Grail status in our minds. "Thanks Martin! Gotta go!" we say, fleeing the dollhouse and leaving him with the obnoxious task of either tweezing out the other half of the key or changing our locks altogether. You're in our thoughts Martin. Thanks man.