Try to understand; he's a magic man

At our rehearsal dinner, Whit's sister outed him for his many weird traits as a kid...i.e. creating and wearing stilt shoes to school, owning daytime and nighttime ninja constumes... collecting switchblades...proclaiming that he would be a magician when he grew up...

I did not fully --- 100% fully --- grasp just how serious this magician ambition was until yesterday morning at about 7 a.m. We'd gotten home from the gym to discover our next-door neighbor calling Whit's name. His wife and children were still out of town on Spring Break, and he'd somehow locked himself out of his house. "Do you happen to have one of our spare keys?" he asked hopefully.

We did not, but I'll tell you what we did have! (and which I had no knowledge of until that moment). Whit's lock picking set, known officially as the "Magestic Pix-Quix" (model A, mind you). He was able to locate said kit in our unorganized house in under one minute. Imagine the scene: my husband in ruddy gym clothes, slouching over the neighbor's front door, armed with a set of lock picks. He used words like "torque" and "pins" and "shaft" to try to describe what he was doing, but despite it being in the name of magic, I still cringed every time a jogger ran by the scene. I'm surprised our neighborhood alliance hasn't already sent out a mass e-mail alerting us to be on the lookout for sweaty men breaking and entering in the area. "When asked what he was doing at ### Woodward Way, the perpetrator said he was a magician!"

Most neighbors trade keys for emergencies like these; we simply wait to pick their locks.