I thought about killing my husband this morning. What? It’s Monday. That’s what we do on Mondays, right? Once you get married that’s what “A Case of the Mondays” means, right? Thanks Office Space.
See… here’s the thing. I’m lazy. If we can just stipulate that fact, things will move right along, okay? So finally, after almost 10 years of marriage, I have a garage parking space. I feel like that’s something that should be on the game of “Life”. The square says something like “Your spouse finally rates you above the boat and the classic car and you earn a garage parking space of your very own. You win $200, dry shoes in the rain and a brand new fight called ‘Why do you park like an asshole in the garage’… CONGRATULATIONS!!”
(Side note… last year for Christmas, my husband got me a laser assisted parking thing for my stocking. Three guesses if you can figure out where THAT fine gift ended up…)
But all that nonsense aside, one thing I have found absolutely GLORIOUS about parking in the garage is the 5 minutes I no longer have to spend in a mad dash running around the house looking for my damn keys. I leave them in my car, in the ignition with the windows rolled down in the garage. And I love it because I know where those bitches are like 99.9% of the time. Oh sure, it means that if I DIDN’T drive, I’m consistently locked out of my own house and I never have that damn Kroger card and entering my phone number only sometimes works but dammit… I KNOW WHERE MY KEYS ARE.
I am the girl who loses her phone twelve times a day but always knows where her keys are. Hi. Nice to meet you.
So yesterday Patrick and I were running some errands and he was driving because usually when we go somewhere together he drives so I can mainline tequila. It makes our lives better, you should try it! Anyway he, for whatever reason, starts giving me shit because I don’t have my keys and we are stopping by the office so I can feed my fish (I have fish! Have I told you about the fish!?!?) and I have to wait for him to unlock the door even though his hands are full (of… wood? I forget) and he’s like “Oh no, don’t worry, I’ll get this” while I’m standing there noticing that my shoes were really cute. And I was all DUDE. What? No keys. And he acts flabbergasted that I have no keys. As if this is brand new information and this very situation has never once ever happened before in the history of Susannah possessing keys. (Other things that have happened more than once? Susannah throwing her entire keychain away at the mall. I win at keys.)
Fast forward to this morning when I am running late as I am on all mornings but Mondays in particular but I have gathered my shit and even made a sandwich for lunch and I can’t even begin to tell you what a rare occurrence this one is and I am out the door and I sit in my car and THERE ARE NO KEYS.
NO KEYS.
Obviously, Patrick has taken them. He has decided to prove a point and he has taken my keys like an assholey asshole and for this he will pay dearly. I look in every drawer in his dresser. I even look the places I used to look for keys when they were a traveling enigma. Normal places. The bathroom. The pantry. The washing machine. Fridge.
NO KEYS.
I spent half an hour looking for my keys this morning and the entire time my poor animals were being schooled in vocabulary that would normally make even ME blush. Supposedly there is a spare key? Like a valet thing? That I lost? Whatever. No keys.
Back to the car that I am now proceeding to tear apart because now I’m thinking maybe he just pulled them out of the ignition and tossed them in a seat or the floor or something where I would OBVIOUSLY see them except that I am morning-stupid. (It’s like being day-drunk but nowhere near as entertaining.) I finally found them under the front seat and I am now yelling so loudly at my damn husband that I am CERTAIN he can already hear me. This is not cute. This is not funny. This is not clever. Clever was the time I reprogrammed his phone to play the Hallelujah chorus at top volume and the caller ID to read GOD when I called it and then called him while I knew he was in a meeting. THAT? Was cute and clever.
He swears he didn’t do it. I don’t think I believe him.
Hey! Let’s turn this into something good and not something I’m still kind of fuming over, what do you say? What the meanest little trick to prove a point that you either played on someone or had played on you? Whoever has the best story wins that damn parking laser and I’ll throw something good in there too. Some Christmas cards with a painting on them and maybe some candied jalapenos from my garden. Oh fine. And a $25 Amazon gift card. Let’s recap…
1. Mean-spirited laser parking assistant.
2. Christmas note cards printed with an original painting by yours truly
3. Candied jalapenos from my garden
4. $25 Amazon Gift Card
That’s not so bad, really, is it? Tell your friends! I’ll choose a winner on December 5th which is two whole weeks so get to thinking about what an asshole you are.
