It’s late. You and Molly are lounging in the apartment, half-watching a movie, half-dozing, when she suddenly gasps.

“Wait… did we—”

You look down at your phone, realizing you’ve just heard the unmistakable click of the door locking behind you.

“Oh no,” you whisper. “We’re locked out. In pajamas.”

Molly jumps up, still in her polka-dot onesie, hair sticking up in every direction. “This is hilarious! And slightly tragic. But mostly hilarious!”

You groan. “It’s freezing outside, Mol. And we have no keys. No shoes. Nothing.”

Molly starts pacing dramatically. “Okay, okay. We have options. Option one: start a Broadway scene on the stoop and hope someone notices. Option two: climb in through the window—dangerous, exciting, potentially illegal. Option three…” She pauses for effect. “…call a locksmith.”

You sigh. “Option three seems safest. I mean… we could try screaming for help, but—”

Molly throws her hands in the air. “Screaming for help is too normal. And boring. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

By the time you both reach the lobby, the doorman is already laughing at the sight of two adults in pajamas, hair wild, shivering and clutching blankets like capes.

“Locked out?” he asks, smirking.

“Yes,” Molly says dramatically, throwing an arm over her eyes. “And we demand a rescue! Preferably stylish and fast.”

The doorman shakes his head, still chuckling. “Hang tight. I’ll call the locksmith.”

Molly plops down on the steps, flopping dramatically, but still manages to charm the doorman into chatting and laughing with her. You sit beside her, exhausted, watching her turn an embarrassing situation into a full performance.

Finally, the locksmith arrives, and the door swings open. Molly strikes a triumphant pose as you step inside.

“See?” she says, brushing imaginary dust off her pajamas. “Adventure, excitement, minor hypothermia… and a story for the ages. Totally worth it.”