Why is it when you're in a hurry that the keys are nowhere to be seen? Late for work, hopping around at top speed with one shoe on, the other in hand, piece of toast hanging our of your mouth, dog happily playing in the garden suddenly deaf when you call her name...
You're just about ready, grab an apple for the drive, wallet-check, phone-check, keys- bugger...
Where do they go? We always enter the house in the same fashion, greet the dog (who apparently hasn't seen us for over a year by her reaction), dump bags and collected post in the kitchen and head for the sofa for that 'Aaaaaaah... ' feeling when you stop and recline for the first time all day. So, the keys should be in the kitchen you say? Too easy. In the door? Nope. In the car? Not a chance. We search high and low, on an almost daily basis! Where do they go?
Well, actually, usually into Mr T's pockets which he discards along with his jeans into the wash basket at the first opportunity. But when this is the first place we check? Of course not.
One of life's mysteries I suppose, destined to make you late along with the binmen, the old coffin-dodger that should have handed in his driving licence long ago and the annoying cyclist that insists on moving as slowly as possible in the centre of the road.
But now I must go, we need to fill the fridge before the 3 hungry goblins arrive home from school, walk the dog and they'll be out of school in about 2 hours...
Keys, anyone?
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