Tuesday, 6 October 2009

When One Door Closes, a Flesh Wound Opens

It was late at night and all I wanted was to go to sleep as quickly as possible.  I didn't bother to turn on another set of lights after flicking the kitchen light off.  After a sufficient amount of time, I knew how to navigate in the dark down a hallway to get to the bedroom.  Or so I thought.  The sound my lethargic body made colliding with an unexpected closed door was a cringe-inducing thud, followed by some expletive I couldn't catch on its way out. 

Chumley was at it again.

For those of you who might ever live in an English house, let me substitute my pain for yours by filling you in on a quirky yet important factoid.  English houses have many doors, and their inhabitants aren't afraid to use them.

I'll explain.  This little domestic issue between us started back in the States, when we got married and I moved to his 1920's era house, complete with a few more doors than most American homes had.  There, the doors were nice and hollow, so they made a cheery ball-cracking-a-baseball-bat sound when my forehead hit them in the middle of the night.  He explained that English homes have radiators, and it's helpful to close doors to keep the heat in.  I reminded him that his American house had a furnace and forced-air heat, so no door closures were necessary.  I inspected the toes on my right foot for broken bones and forgot the matter...

Until last night. English homes have doors that separate every major room, as well as hallways.  Yes, I think closing them makes a difference when the radiators are on, but not enough to risk being body-checked at 1:30 am when I get up and forget Chumley has been on rounds.  I'm sure he would appreciate an advent calendar with all the doors permanently closed.  I reported my injuries to his complaint desk, but it was closed, too. 

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