“Where are my keys?”
Blank stare.
“I just had them, did you move them?”
Blank stare.
“Ok, I’m running late so please let me know where they are ok?”
Blank stare.
After twenty minutes of tornado cycling through every room, skimming every surface, inhaling exhaling, and remembering to count to 10 before totally imploding, little did I know that an itch would present the reveal. That annoying, desperate mosquito that had been continuously gnawing my thigh during a midnight snack feast fest, would later become the catalyst, and saving grace. Thanks little buzzing sleep stealing muncher. Scratching that itch? Lead me to my keys.
In. My. Left. Hand. The. Whole.Time.
Tip: No matter how many times you ask your house mate, husband, kids, or dog, check your own hands first. Because ladies we all know our purses are the never ending abyss. Last week it took me three hours to find my wallet. Inside my purse.
I’ve become a list maker. I make lists to make the list, listing the list of lists to list.
And as I’ve gotten older a stranger will respond to me with “Yes, maa’m”. Not “miss, or “honey”, or “young lady”. And the pure joy I get when I cross an item off my list? I’m definitely a “Ma’am”, or maybe even a “Dear”. The icing? When it’s the perfect bic pen to do the job. Millennials, a bic pen is a type of ballpoint pen. A pen, is what you can write with. On paper. Old fashioned stuff.
List Item number 1. Trader Joe’s: Soap, garbage bags, coffee, filters.
Easy peezy. Now that I had my keys, I leashed up Luna (still laughing at me for having the keys in my hand the whole time) and by the way, have you ever seen your dog laugh? It’s pretty great. Even if at you. And not with you.
Luckily I live right up the street from Trader Joe’s, so grabbing something quick, is very convenient.
It’s a beautiful evening, not a cloud in the sky and the air like a sheet on a warm summer night. We walk out my door and around the corner when I realize AAACK I left my mask on the dining room table! By now I’m convinced that mosquito muncher and Luna or both are in cahoots with me losing or forgetting things left or right.
Without a moment’s pause and with the birds chirping to cheer me on, I pull one more perforated pink little bag from the spool attached to my key ring. A special little bag, that serves purpose and liked by all: the poopie bag. Improvisation came in handy. As I made my way to Trader Joe’s, stepped in line on “x “marks the spot for social distancing, even though I couldn’t see the smiles behind the masks, I definitely heard the laughs. And even a few gasps. Thank god I remembered to wear it when it was empty.