Blonde Roots

Today on the way to work it occurred to me that I’d left my Christmas cards sitting on the dining room table yet again. Since I was only about five minutes from home I decided to just turn back around.

Half way there I remembered that I had a meeting at 8am and I would be cutting it close by adding ten extra commute minutes.

Oh, but I am a quick thinker and I think “I will just grab my keys, dash in the house and then run back out. Thirty seconds, max.” So I start to root around in my purse.

OMG.

No keys. Where the HELL are my keys? I need my keys!

Now how will I get in the house? I’m going to have to find that stupid hidden rock thing and God knows where that is but I’m turning the corner to my block and it’d be stupid to turn BACK around now with nothing to show for it, so I’m just going to have to suck it up.

Sure, I’ll miss my meeting and get fired, and then we’ll go broke and then the bank will foreclose the house and we’ll all be living in a Frigidaire box down on Grand & Central, but PEOPLE NEED THEIR CHRISTMAS CARDS FOR THE LOVE OF GOD.

If only I could find my keys. And what the hell is that clinking noise?

And then I look down.

And there are my keys.

In the ignition.