There was a fleeting moment when I thought to myself, “This might not end well.”  Nonetheless, I handed my keys to my son.  He was going to get the mail.


And we never saw those keys again.


There are faint memories of the keys, overlapping reports of where they might have been before they were reported Missing in Action.


But nobody knows for sure what happened.


I do have one son who is making up terrific stories of what may have happened, and some of them are believable.


I have one other son who flinches any time the topic comes up because he’s terrified this was his fault and he’s the most responsible person he knows.


So I’ve resolved that they will not be found and the fact that they are missing isn’t any one person’s fault.


(Although it’s most assuredly not my fault.)


(Even though I gave my son my keys, against my better instincts.)


I spent about 36 hour without keys at all, and I tip my hat to the people of the world who depend on others for their transportation.  Because I just couldn’t do it.


Car Keys = My Independence.  Turns out.


Locksmiths promise lots of things in their ads online.

24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year they promise, in their bold letters and links.


And then they don’t answer their phones on a Sunday afternoon.


“24/7/365 if it doesn’t interfere with any single thing in my life,” is what it could say.


I have keys again.  A nice array of them: keys to my front door, to the mailbox, and to the door as well as the ignition to the car. It’s possible that the key ring also held random access to places I’ve worked in the last fifteen years.


(If you’re reading this and you gave me your keys, I hereby apologize and promise that I never intended to do anything in your office after hours.  And I’m banking on nobody knowing which random key belonging to which random former employer.  Please do not send me a bill to re-key your office complex.)


Honda gave me a remote that opens the sliding doors on the sides.  The locksmith did not.  I am now officially embarrassed to see that a remote control had become an integral part of my vehicular access.


Okay, so I can do without the side doors opening at my command.  But for real?  I have to manually lock this thing?  I’ve never done that in my life.  Might as well confiscate my air conditioning and power windows and windshield fluid.  This all feels so very philistine and I am ridiculously spoiled.


Losing one’s keys is a very expensive mistake.  Let’s just say, three digits, no decimals, first number was five.


I have decided this is the price I will pay to find the old set of keys.  Figuring they’ll show up anytime now.


* * *


It is a new day.  Tyler has found my keys.  He does not understand why I am not unspeakably happy over this.  Mostly, I’m just not speaking.

(They were in the basket downstairs, tucked in with the Wii Remotes in the family room.  Go figure.)

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