I have my neighbor’s house key. She has a copy of mine.
A week ago, when I called to tell her my sister was coming up from New York to visit and I might not be home and could she please let her in for me with the spare key, she said, “Of course. We’ll be home.” That’s just one thing I love about this neighbor. She is a lovely and generous human being. She makes incredible pies. And let me tell you, that woman is responsible. She does not lose keys. She has mine and I have hers.
But backing up – Two weeks ago, my realtor held an Open House here. I cleaned this place so it looked like a showroom. Then, I locked up all my personal information in case of wandering eyes or thieves who might walk through with ill intent. That’s how my mind works. Not “Oooo! The perfect buyer will be here today!” No, it’s more like “Credit card receipts? Check. Trash taken out and/or shredded? Check. Toothbrush locked up? Check.” I know. My mind is not well.
I cleaned and put away and cleaned some more and then checked all kitchen drawers to make sure they looked like everything was new, meaning all the rusty and gross utensils were hidden out of the way…and then I spied the key ring with my own spare key and my neighbor’s spare house key and said to myself, “Better hide those babies!” Complimenting myself on being so responsible, I hid them away in a terrific secret spot and said out loud to myself (yes, I also talk aloud to myself, and I’d like to say I’m a wonderful listener):
“I’ll put them here. I’ll remember this.”
The bad news is I can’t find them. Oh, they’re here. Somewhere.
The good news is I don’t have to worry about them falling into the wrong hands.
Like mine.
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