Oops! Oops! OOPS!
Halfway to my car, ready to head out for a full day of errands, it hit me: I didn't have my keys and the house was locked up tight.
OOPS!
What the hell happened to my OCD, that bully who forces me to check that my keys are in my purse over and over and over each time I leave the house until I finally get tired and just grip them in my hand when I pull the locked door to behind me to be satified I really have them?
I know that pest had been on my shoulder whispering in my ear when I checked every door and window, making sure they were all locked. It was even there after I loosened the bathroom window screen to let the beautiful moth out that has been trapped in the house for days, nagging me to make sure the screen was back in place tight, rather than just wedging it "good enough" like I wanted to.
It reminded me to grab the water bill, my checkbook, and my coffee carafe and mug, reading them to me off my mental checklist. Yep, that's it. You have everything...
Um, OCD, what about KEYS?!
Okay, I confess that "Oops!" isn't what flew out of my mouth when I realized my car keys were still sitting all by their lonesome on the counter and I was locked out of the house. (They were probably wondering why I'd run off and left them. Or were they laughing at me? That's more likely, isn't it? Damn smartass keys.)
Anyway, I can't write what I really said, but Tom knows ... he heard it all when I called him on my cell phone for help (I told you I had everything I needed except the keys.) I prayed he'd stashed a key outside somewhere. I knew I hadn't.
He hadn't either, dang it.
But...he had an idea. Following his suggestion, I tried breaking a pane out of a window with a metal pipe. I banged the hell out of it, the sound ricocheting through the Hollow and scaring the puppies.
Not a crack. Not a dent. Not a scratch.
That made us feel more secure, but didn't help me get in the house.
So guess what Tom did?
He drove home to rescue me - a 45 minute trip one way.
My Knight in Shining Armor. My Personal Cavalry.
My Tom.
sigh.
He unlocked the door, I ran to the bathroom (I'd had time to drink that whole carafe of coffee!), we each ate a slice of cheesecake (to make us feel better) then, keys in my hand and water bill in his, we kissed goodbye and went our separate ways.
But that's not the end of the story. On his way home tonight, he stopped and bought me a present. Five of them, in fact. Five copies of our housekey, now safely hidden in secure, mysterious spots you would never think of so don't try, and attached to every set of keys we own.
My Hero.
He still holds the keys to my heart, for sure.
