“You can tell it any way you want to, but you did it.”
Those were my husband’s parting words to me, administered with an ornery grin.
Oh yeah. I did it.
I went to town (partly to run errands for him) and when I accidentally left my keys in the car, I also accidentally locked it.
It’s one of those newer models and the guys in the auto parts store apologized that they were scared to try to help with it.
It would have made a good Lucy Ball episode.
Except — these days we have cell phones. I could call my husband and plead insanity and he would come help me.
Except — he wasn’t in the house. So I unknowingly woke our night-shift working daughter. Ooh, I was so sorry about that. She had no idea where her dad was, she mumbled to me, but would find him for me and he would come and help me.
Except — when he got back to the house from tending chickens, he learned he also had accidentally left his keys in the car I had taken to town. He remembered and found the valet key he had stashed wherever guys keep valet keys, borrowed our daughter’s car, and came to my rescue.
Meanwhile, I had gone across the street to get a cup of coffee and had shared my end of the story with the kind waitress. She was so sympathetic, she gave me her pen to cheer me up.
By now, as I feared, the whole town knows about our keys, the only excitement we’ve had for at least a week, but I have learned a new level of cherishing thankfulness for this tiny town where the parts guys contemplated helping and the coffee waitress gave me her pen.
And that’s how I want to tell it.
And I did not do quite all of it.
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