The short version of why we’re the perfect couple: We have two sets of keys.
The long version: Mo’s about to leave for work. She can’t find her keys. This is not particularly unusual, given that it happens, oh, every time she is about to leave for work. Running late, she decides to borrow mine.
We can’t find my keys either.
This IS unusual. I am a creature of habit, putting my keys in the same place daily. If they’re not there, then they either turn up in my pants or shorts. Not today.
We shrug, go to the Secret Spare Key (don’t ask where we keep it. It’s a secret).
Fast forward to the next day. Still no keys. Now officially worrisome. I look everywhere. I am famous for absentmindedly placing keys in odd places, so I check the freezer, the spice drawer, the bathroom cabinet, body cavities. Nothing. Panic sets in.
Then it hits me. The trash.
I put my stuff on a shelf as you walk into the apartment that is directly over the kitchen trash can. Yes, I realize this is not a great idea. I once disposed of my cell phone that way. The problem: I just emptied the trash this morning and today is trash day. Screwed.
I walk out anyhow, and yahoo!!!!! Turns out I took out the trash only moments after the trash guys came through, so my bag is the only one in the Dumpster. A few moments of sorting later (coffeee grinds ICK), my keys and I stage a tearful reunion.
I later tell my tale to Mo. Um, did you happen to see mine? she asks. Sadly, no.
Half a day and 32 searches later, the light bulb goes off over Mo’s head. The keys are in a Nike bag full of old tennis balls. Well, of course. Sometimes the most obvious places are overlooked.
Bottom line: We’re both goofballs. If one spouse did this sort of stuff it would likely be maddening. When both spouses do it, it’s just another day at the Smith/Sheppo household.
And they lived happily ever after. With two sets of keys …