I couldn’t find my keys this morning. Total panic. This happens occasionally. It used to be an every-day occurrence, so I’m very good about putting my keys in the same place every day now. The shelf next to the front door holds my keys faithfully every afternoon. Except, you know, when I forget to put them there.
Yesterday I walked in the door at 5:30, exactly the time that my nanny leaves for the day. I walked in with ten grocery bags and bustled into the house without my normal routine of stopping for the mail, putting the mail and keys on the shelf, kissing the babies, etc. A disaster waiting to happen.
This morning, my keys, predictably, weren’t on the shelf. Sigh. What to do. Normally this means a fifteen minute frantic search before I find them on the kitchen counter instead of in their given place on the shelf. Not today. Today was an hour of searching. An HOUR.
I was in tears.
I even called the dealership to find out what would happen if I couldn’t find the key. $23 dollars for a new master key. $50 to program it. And they can’t do that without the car actually in the shop, so I would have had to tow the car to them. Right.
Finally, I found my keys. Right where I’d already looked three times. Are. You. Kidding. Me?
I hate days like this.