Where Are My Car Keys?
By Kay Davis
He had been gone for several days to join his family in celebration of his mother’s 88th birthday. The flight had kept him going one way or another for 14 hours without food or time between flight connections to buy a meal. In fact he had to run between airlines to catch his last leg home. By now he was too pooped to care.
He brought me up to date on everything and everyone in the family as he unpacked. I just wanted to sleep. It was late. Then the topic turned to picking up some money in the morning. That woke me up. I was down to my last 20 centavos. Well, we won’t tell him about the money I stash for emergency. He knows I do this and he actually approves, but we play this game anyway.
“I won’t know how much I’ll have until about noon,” said he. “But I’ll give you whatever I can.” What a guy. What a guy.
“That’s good,” said I as calmly as possible. I need it. “The electric bill is due, and then the car needs….” I heard the refrigerator door open.
“And you need to get some groceries too,” said he with the saddest look I’ve seen since the neighbor’s dog tried begging my sandwich.
“That’s for certain,” I agreed. “Oh, by the way, I won’t be going to any restaurants for awhile.”
He stood up so quickly the blood ran out of his face. His eager look reminded me of that same neighbor dog. “Are you planning to cook?” he asked. His tongue was lolling to the left side.
“Ha ha ha,” I responded. “No, honey. I have to get this weight off. While you were gone, I didn’t go near a restaurant and I dropped five pounds. I’d like to keep that momentum going.”
His woebegone look stayed with me for hours after he had gone to sleep. But he got even with me. He woke up before the birds and immediately turned on the overhead light. “Sorry, but where are my car keys?”
“Hm gnh….I don’t know,” said the sleep enveloped wife who wouldn’t cook. “Give me a minute. I don’t even recognize what language you’re speaking at this ungodly hour.”
And so we both searched the house for car keys. No luck. I finally took the spare I always keep on my key chain for bailing him out when he locks his keys in his car. (And he thought we could get along with only one car. Hah.) He gladly accepted my spare key and left for work, muttering something about leaving his car with an employee who was supposed to return both the car and the keys to me.
“I’m going to kill him,” I thought. By this time, you’ve probably guessed, I was wide awake.
I did my morning rituals, made the bed by tossing the covers loosely over everything and fixed my hair so I would be absolutely irresistible. Not that he’ll notice. He’s been away. The business will consume 85 hours in the first day alone.
Next I tackled the email and the online banking for the month ahead. The email is easy to get lost in. It’s addictive. Jokes. Friends inviting you to lunch. Porn solicitation. Wait…. What was that? He’s been looking at naked women again while I’m sleeping in the other room? I really will kill him this time. Oh. It was sent by a travel agent soliciting more ticket sales? Delete, delete, delete.
I’m going out for coffee.
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