watching too much Project Runway

In the car on the way to Target this afternoon, I told Ezra that earlier, I had to call a locksmith because I was locked out of our house. (Our cleaning people actually locked the back door on their way out, and since we never lock it except at night--please, Internet, don't come steal our stuff--we don't even own a key.)

I explained to him that the locksmith had a bag of special tools, and he had to spray some WD-40 first to get the parts working smoothly, and then he used a tool that looked like a pin, and then a tool that looked like a nail file, and he jiggled the one, and twisted the other, and he was fast and he was a pro and within a minute or two, the door swung open, and he said, "Welcome home."

"Not interesting!" Ezra decreed. And then, after a couple of beats, kind of coyly: "What outfit was he wearing?"

****
Edited to add: My husband has just informed me that keys for both the front and back doors are on my car key chain. So: Oops! That right there wasn't the best use of fifty bucks.