I stepped out of the house to put the MXs (free newspaper) that I've accumulated over the past few weeks into the recycling bin that sits two steps away from the front door. The moment I heard the door slam shut behind me, I knew I was in trouble. See, the front door locks automatically as it closes.

There I was, standing frantically in front of the door, as I slowly realise two things: 1) I haven't got anything with me except the clothes on my back, and 2) Brigid is out of town and won't be back until later in the evening. I looked downwards, to my left, to find the grotto of our landlord, and wondered if he might have a key to the house. As I was walking out of our doorway and down to the front door of our landlord, I realise that it's still 4pm, and he may still be at work, making my situation hopeless and that I should therefore prepare myself to sit out on the steps while waiting for Brigid to come back and say "Ohhh yer a funneh gerl!"

So I rang the bell of our landlord. Lo and behold, an old European man comes out and patiently listens to my dilemma. He takes two steps back into his house and pulls out a set of keys and tells me, "Next time, don't forget the key!"
"I know, I'm sorry..."
"Where you from?"
"Canada" (before anyone whips me due to my un-nationalistic ways, please consider that it takes a great deal of effort to explain the existence of my Canadian accent -- yes, I have accepted it now, after having several strangers tell me that I have one.)
"Ohh, yes, I knew that was a Canadian accent!"
"Where are you from?"
"Budapest. Do you know where that is?"
"Yes!" (yeah, I will know once you let me in the house and I google it.)
"Where?!"
I squint and make the luckiest guess in the world: "Hungary?"