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Just when you think you know what to expect from life, you can all-too-easily find yourself face-down, heading toward an open toilet, with a stocky Scottish man pushing you eagerly from below. This is no moment for pride or ego, it's all about hand placement and balance. The goal was clear: get back into the house you've locked yourself out of, not just for yourself, but for the five hungry mouths waiting for their supper, already two hours too late. Mitch will be fine, he has charmed you into extra snacks all day. Noreen and Becky can hold their own. Frank will be furious by now; he expects his food on time and fresh. Dinky, despite the name and befitting stature, will be the most disappointed in you. He would tell you: you should have known that some countries have doors that lock automatically! You should always check and double-check for the keys in that certain coat pocket, so you are always sure! With so many mouths to feed, there are no excuses. Not when you’ve been in ten countries under similar circumstances. Not when it marks the two-year anniversary of the very first time looking after someone else’s house while they are away. Despite forty houses, fifteen dogs, fifty cats, one goldfish, and two birds, this was something new and unexpected. On the way down it was hard not to ask, just how did I get into this situation? And will those five chihuahuas ever forgive me? It’s not unusual for my generation to feel a sense of somehow being upside-down in the world. Millennials are found to feel less grounded and have a more uncertain life path as a result. A feeling of permanency and stability that comes from two well-paid jobs with a predictable commute and circle of friends just leaves us lacking. It’s why we might one day pack up everything we own and hit the road, with the goal of discovering the unknown, creating our own adventure, and meeting some cute cats and dogs along the way. As for my misfortune of being the only one both thin enough and tall enough to pass through that narrow, single-paned window, I leave that to fate. On reflection, our last Christmas adventure in Berlin, just after a terrible attack that made us wonder if we really had lost our minds, brought us to a house with much nicer, wider windows. They were nothing compared to the windows in the remodelled cork factory in Pittsburgh, that would be easy to pass through in a pinch. The 7th floor penthouse in Geneva had windows with an amazing view of Mont Blanc on a clear day. The Palladian windows in Vicenza offered more smells of fresh bread than chances to be hurled in head-first. So, the question is, why of all times did we decide to forget the keys at this particular house, with this particular window? After deftly grabbing the sides of the toilet and rolling my way to safety and freedom, I was finally inside the smallest bathroom I've ever seen, with five confused pairs of eyes wondering, “Okay, now can we eat?” I quickly opened the side door and shook my fist at the house keys, mocking us as they remained safely hanging on their hook next to the door. Prematurely, we started deciding how to retell this story, laughing at our misfortune and foolish mistakes. As our new Scottish friend headed home, we did the normal roll call. Frank…Noreen…Becky…Dinky…and…WHERE IS MITCH? Coats back on, keys securely in pocket, nervously we paced through the winding network of nearby streets with treats in hand like a strange Santa Claus and his elf. After an exhausting, frustrating hour, it was clear that Mitch was either lost or adopted. This time, coming in through the front door, we were unexpectedly greeted by the most round and sneaky of the chihuahuas, the one they call Mitch, who had been home all along and was most definitely laughing at us.