The Lost Keys

You learn to bite your tongue when you love someone. Last night, my son, Dave, told me he'd lost his keys, and I stopped myself from saying, "How do people lose their keys? I never lose my keys."

My brother, Steve, has an expression - "AAA" , which loosely translated, means, "A**holes Always Advertise". I'm thinking about that because, although I didn't make that comment about the keys to my son, I thought of it instantly, which reveals my critical nature. That must be hard on a son. Hard on the Missus too, I reckon.

Anyway, I'm sitting here blogging instead of fishing (which is what I really want to do) and instead of looking for my keys (which is what I really should be doing), because...

I've lost my keys!

I used them half an hour ago to unlock the garage. Now they are gone. I've looked everywhere I might have put them. I've retraced my steps. They're simply gone - vanished into thin air!

They're in that parallel universe with all my odd socks, and the jackknife I lost when I was nine. They're havin' a ball with Dave's keys - livin' large... on Jimmy Hoffa's money!

Good Luck and Good Fishin'!

RP

Photo by Random Phrump: Steve's Shangrila