PaD 43/365: Come in the Backdoor

I arrive home to my happy woman,

When she calls out to me through a window's crack:

“Honey, you always come in the front door,

Do you think tonight you can come in the back?”

I think for a moment, such a strange request,

But I'd do anything for her, her joy is my goal.

So I walk around the home and retrieve my key,

But it doesn't seem to fit in the keyhole.

“Lubricate it, dear, sometimes it sticks,”

She calls out with her innocent grin

As I slather up my key with some WD40

And once more try to work it in.

It slides in slowly, with still some trouble,

So I work it in and out and in and out,

It seems the key just hardly fits in,

And so whether it'll even fit becomes a doubt.

All the while a squeal grows louder

With every twist of my key a grimace comes from you.

“Reach down and twist the knob,” My dear calls out to me,

“Never forget the knob needs your attention too.”

Finally the key slides all the way inside

But still the door mocks me, sealed.

So I bang on the door, pushing, banging,

Hand twisting and pulling at the knob until it yields.

As the door flies open, I find my girl,

She smiles, a flush of excitement on her face like never before.

“Finally slid in through the back, huh?” She asks,

“Now come to do me what you did to that door!”