I got locked out of my house once. You don't realize how spoiled you are until you sit in your poop-filled backyard for two and half hours during a hot Vegas summer. I had just gotten back from a workout, my sweaty cotton t-shirt clinging to my chest and back. Little drops of perspiration ran down my face onto my dehydrated lips.

I grabbed the door handle, pushed my full body weight into the door. However instead of a blast of air conditioning, I slammed straight into the door.

“No," I said with disbelief.

I tried again.

Still nothing. I sighed and held back the anger. I walked to the gate of my backyard, a place I’ve only been twice since we moved in a year before. I hop-skipped over the dog poop my brother had decided not to clean up. I got to the back door, knowing full well it was locked, I tried anyways. Yep, locked. I grabbed my phone from my sports bra and pressed “mom.”

“Hello, daughter” my mother said in her usual chipper voice.

“Hey, I got locked out again - where are you?” I blurted into the phone.

“Well, why don’t you have a key?” she asked with a modulated tone.

Well, who cares why I don't have a key, woman. I'm locked out, come home! Of course I did not say this to my beloved mother; instead, I clenched my jaw and said, “I don't know. Can you come get me?”

I knew she was taking my dad to get an MRI that he'd been dreading, however, I had my own agenda. I had just worked out and according to the internet, my body needed a protein shake within thirty minutes or I would implode.

My dead body would be found laying in my dog’s waste - fat and alone.

In a casual tone, my mom began: “Well it’s going to be a while till we are home. You have the hose and shade; I guess you are just going to have to wait.” As she said this my plump black and white cocker spaniel jumped out of the doggy door.

“I’ll just go through the doggy door,” I retorted.

My mom’s laugh bellowed through the end of my phone, “You’re going to get stuck.”

Without taking my eyes off that worn out rubber rectangle I replied, “I’ll call you when I’m inside.”

I then proceeded to kick my feet into the doggy door. Was it possible or would I just get stuck and have to call firefighters to rescue me? I debated this for 30 minutes. I knew I could get in, but I lacked the confidence.

I sat on the steps in my backyard. Flies swarmed around my body like mini fighter jets as the heat of the desert sun sizzled against my bare skin. In that moment of irritation and an empty stomach, I became Godzilla. I waved my hands at the black dots in the dry summer heat. I was enraged. I couldn’t take the smell of cooked digested dog food any longer. I lied on the cement and without hesitation, I kicked my feet into the cool house and wiggle the rest of my legs through.

Now I just had to get my shoulders through. I sucked in my belly and pushed. I readjusted a few times, but panic started to flood in. I used my hands to pull my hips out but my hips wouldn’t slide out like they slid in. At this point I didn’t care if it ripped my leggings or cut my skin— I wanted out. I managed to get my butt out a little but the discomfort made me return to the position I was in before.

For the next hour and a half I laid like that. While half my body cooled off in my house, the rest of me soaked up the relentless sun rays.

During that time, I called and tried to get anyone to come help me. Unfortunately, God or karma or Santa decided this was the best time for me to reevaluate my life and made plans for all my friends and neighbors.

Reluctantly I pressed mom again on my cellphone.

“Hello, Daughter, did you get inside the house?” she said sweetly.

“Yes…well, no... I’m stuck,” I paused to hear her reaction. Through the phone both my parents began cracking up. They asked if I was okay and said they were on their way home. I asked my dad how his MRI went he said it was fine, and they would get the results back soon. We talked for a little bit until they were ten minutes away.

I looked out into the backyard, and although it was ugly and smelled it could be worse. After being set free from the embrace of the doggy door, I no longer panic when my protein shake is not in my hand within thirty minutes or get angry when my day is interrupted by a locked door. I simply learn to enjoy the different smells of dog poop that life has to offer.