that's life: Keys, keys who's got the keys?

By Tammy Keith

LITTLE ROCK — I've done it again, and I'm in the dog house.

Well, I would be, if we had a dog house any more.

I want to publicly apologize to my dear, wonderful, longsuffering husband.

As I was backing out to go to work, in my usual 40 mph way down the driveway, the thought crossed my mind that I might have accidentally picked up my husband's set of car keys, too.

But to pause and look would have made me 30 seconds later to work, for which I was already going to be 30 minutes early, and might make me miss getting to park in the shade under the big tree, 30 miles away in Little Rock.

So I drove on, happily eating my breakfast and listening to the '70s music on XM radio.

I was at work talking to a coworker at about 7:15 a.m., and he called.

"Can I call you back?" I asked, since I was involved in a conversation with my friend.

"No, do you have my keys?" he asked, a little more sternly than he usually speaks.

There was no, "Hi, buttercup," or any of the usual endearments.

I dug in my purse, and what do you know, I did have his keys.

"Yes, oh, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I thought I might have done that," I said.

"OK, bye," he said, and hung up.

That's about as tough as it gets with him.

But later in the day, I called to see how he got to work. Or if he got to work.

I started the conversation by asking, "Is all my stuff out on thelawn?" He said, "No, you have too much stuff to do it in this short of time." He had called our 18-yearold, who is working construction for the summer, and John didn't answer. Then my husband saw a neighbor mowing his yard.

The super-nice neighbor (regardless that he's a bald, bearded biker) gave my husband a ride to my son's job site to get my son's car to use.

The ordeal wasn't quite over, though. My husband, an instructor at UCA, had his office and classroom keys on the key ring I had. So, he and the class sat for 20 minutes in the hallway until someone came and unlocked the door.

(Class, you can thank me later.) I couldn't help but laugh when he told me this. And laugh. And laugh.

He didn't.

When I got home from work he wasn't there, but I saw a sign on a wooden stake in my yard. It said, "Bed for rent." I thought my college-bound son had done it as a joke.

Then I came into the house, and there was a chair missing at the kitchen table.

A sign taped on the table had the word "Vacant." It didn't dawn on me that it was my seat missing.

Then I went into the bedroom, and half the bed was neatly made. His half. My half had no sheet, no covers, no pillow.

Then I got it.

I laughed some more.

I went into the bathroom, and my half of the mirror was draped with a towel.

I turned around quickly and looked in my closet. I was relieved to see he hadn't taken my clothes.

I went to thank my neighbor who'd rescued my husband, and he said my husband had seemed really ticked off in that five-minute ride he'd given him.

I told him about my husband's little jokes, and he said, "What's he gonna do? Trade you in for two 18-year-olds?" I told him since I was turning 45 in August, that wouldn't quite be enough.

I really am sorry, and I promise it won't happen again.

But now I have to go get that Bed for Rent sign out of the yard before two 22 1/2-year-olds apply.

Three Rivers, Pages 107, 112 on 07/20/2008