Unfortunately,the man who holds the key to my heart also holds the keys to about 23,000 other things; all hanging on his key chain.
What is it about guys and their keys anyway; why on earth is it that they seem to think they’re not “real men” unless they have more keys than a showroom full of pianos? Do these guys even know what half of them go to? I’ll bet some of those keys haven’t unlocked anything since 1972.
If you look at my keys, it’s simple, neat, and clean: two keys for the house, one for the jeep, one for the van, and one combination key for gates to both the backyard and the pool. That’s it. That’s all I need to be a semi-competent human being. Tim’s key chain is a whole other situation entirely.
I’ve never known what most of his keys go to—and I’m almost certain that he doesn’t, either. But they are all treated like sacred relics, and stay there in their rightful place, on his key chain. Or key chains, as the case may now be.
Recently, he thought himself clever by deciding he would split them up into three sets. I immediately knew what this meant--multiply the number of times he already loses his keys by three. Tim now keeps the Jeep key by itself, and by itself it has gotten lost in Petsmart, in the house, and went on a joyride through the washing machine, twice. It got so clean in fact, that it no longer dirties itself with the smarmy task of unlocking the jeep from a distance. Then there are his “work keys” that are a set unto themselves now. They, of course, go hang out at work with him all day, doing whatever it is work keys do with themselves until quitting time. Last, but certainly not least, there’s “the other keys.” These are all the keys that go to many things--including the store with him recently where they got lost. But he was proud because at least he still had the jeep key in his pocket.
I guess I really shouldn’t complain, however, as at least his key situation isn’t nearly as embarrassing as it once was; not long after we were married he took to sporting a set of toenail clippers, that’s right TOENAIL CLIPPERS—he swears they were fingernail clippers, but don’t believe him—on his key chain.
I do live in fear, however, that one day Tim’s going to become one of those old men with a mega-load of keys hanging off of his belt loop, the likes that could only to be rivaled by the collection kept by a jail warden. Hopefully—if that day ever comes—the toenail clippers won’t make it back to complete the ensemble.
