We were just down the road when J realized he forgot something in the house and had to turn around. He was going to be quick, so the kids and I stayed buckled in. Since it was arctic enough for hell to freeze over, he didn’t want to take his set of keys out of the ignition, asking for mine instead. This is when my life flashed before my eyes. At least the past week, anyway.
Oh crap, I thought. The last time I used my house key was when I was still carrying a diaper bag. The diaper bag that was dirty and gross and smelled like a juxtaposition of stale bodily fluids. Which, as luck would have it, instead of tossing in the laundry, I happened to throw out in the trash a few days prior during one of my purge and organize frenzies. With keys most likely still inside. Of course, I couldn’t tell this to J. I’d never hear the end of it.
“I don’t have my key”, I said calmly, while subconsciously kicking myself.
I waited until J left for work the next morning. As soon as Jedi muddled out of bed, I put him in charge briefly while I scurried right outside the front door. Fortunately, two things were working in my favor: trash pick-up wasn’t until Wednesday and I knew, generally, where to dig. Unfortunately, my fingers were quick to numb and garbage is still garbage no matter how you spin it.
Given that the suspense is ineffable, I’ll let you know that I found my key hidden amongst the 32 diaper bag pockets. I also found Buzz’s Social Security card. On second thought, I decided to bring the diaper bag back inside and wash it. Who knows what other Very Important Things I’ve forgotten in there.