i am the worst husband ever

Term ended at York this Friday. And with the end of the day, so did my teaching duties this term. A reason to celebrate, if ever there was one - and celebrate i did. I celebrated so much that i sent myself home early (a bit worse for wear). A kiss for kaley, a walk home in the rain, a stop at the takeaway for a so-traditional-it-hurts fish and chips, some idiotic late night television, and off to bed my one am.

Being a security minded fellow, i made sure in my psedo-somnelent state to make sure our front door - by putting the chain on.

I'm fast asleep and dreaming when an hour or so later, kaley comes home, tries the door, finds it impassable, and does the smart thing.

She knocks.

(no answer but a snore)

She calls the phone and lets it ring for an hour

(i'm still cutting z's)

She heaves stones at the bedroom window

(i roll over)

Suddenly, at four am, I wake up in a cold sweat when i realize that i've locked her out. I call her mobile phone, and she's walked up a big hill in the early early morning back to the university, and has made herself as comfortable as possible in the graduate common room (it's common practice for stressed out students to sleep there as project deadlines loom).

At 9:30 am, i watched my lovely wife leave for her shift at the library.

i'm open to suggestions as to how to make this one up to her.

(edit: I can hear you thinking. "this is a pretty illiterate post for a fellow who calls himself a writer" - and you would be right. Rather than correct myself and preserve a veneer of respectability, i choose instead to let my grinding syntax and careless errors speak toward how pathetic i was feeling at the time.)