Two hours and fifty minutes. Time enough to watch two episodes of NCIS or The Unit with enough time left over to browse through a few Tom Petty videos on YouTube. It's also time enough to knock off a blog or two if I'm feeling particularly inspired. Believe me, I'd much rather have been doing any
of those things, rather than what I was doing, what I desperately had to do. I was searching for car
Like any good husband, I've learned to be understanding of my wife's shortcomings. Not everyone
can be perfect. When the keys turned up missing, I immediately joined the search. They weren't on the
kitchen table or the stove. The next place to look was obviously the bathroom. After getting home late
at night, the kitchen and bathroom are the most immediate rooms to occupy my spare time.
No luck in either of those spots. "Honey," I cried, "are you sure you didn't put the keys in your purse?"
"No, the keys are not in my blankety-blank purse." If you think she actually said "blankety-blank"
you're wrong. My ears stung for the better part of an hour. Searching, exasperated and confused through the dirty laundry, I tried again. "I'll go look in the bedroom."
"Think, you fool," she cried. "Why would the keys be in the bedroom?"
"I don't know," I thought, "but I can think better lying down. I've got a blog to write."
"Make a move toward that bedroom, writer boy, and that's the closest you get to it the rest of the
year." When the beloved Pamela makes a threat, she follows up on it.
"Ok, so where do you want to search?" Those were foolish words indeed.
We moved the couch, the recliner and even searched the love seat. Actually searching the love seat was a colossal waste of time. It's far too lumpy for my old body, so I avoid it religiously. My only use for the love seat is seating unwelcome company I want to torture, or as a place to toss my coat. I much prefer the recliner. The recliner fits all my worn parts just right.
Then, I found it. My lost bag of peanuts from Texas Road House was right there under a pile of manuscripts on the kitchen table. I wasn't alone in discovering lost treasures. My beloved Pamela found my missing bottle of metal polish and a knife I haven't seen in months. All in all, it was shaping up to be a great day, except for wasting two hours and forty-nine minutes hunting for lost car keys. I found hope we'd find lost cash, but only a few nickels and dimes appeared. The clock hands moved swiftly forward as my poor baby saw her Saturday circling around the drain.
"How many times do I have to tell you not to leave your damn coat on the love seat?" cried my
beloved, her face bright red with joy as, thrusting her hand in the coat pocket, she retrieved my missing car keys. "You've wasted two hours and fifty minutes of my day off work looking for your blankety-blank car keys!" With her reverting to blankety-blanking I knew I was in deep trouble. "What do you
have to say for yourself?" she cried.
"I'm sorry baby. When did you put my car keys in my coat?" A perfect husband would have corrected the blankety-blanking she did after that, but I'm keeping my mouth shut until I'm allowed
back in the bedroom. I'm not perfect, but I'm no fool either.
"Grovel at my feet, like the dog you are and beg mercy of your queen!" she cried, rattling my car keys
in my face.
It's April. Sleeping on the couch until December's end is out of the question. I must go now, to search for my knee pads in my toolbox. I hope they're easier to find than the car keys. Groveling is rough on the joints.