Anyway, I locked the keys in my car at church last Sunday.
But no worries. One of the guys crawled under my car and got my secret key out for me. It's only the 40 thousandth time he's had to do that.
But I forgot about that when I read a note my mom left me the other morning.
The new keys to my truck are on the key ring. Be sure to throw away the old key on your key ring and put the new one in it's place.
Mom just had the ignition fixed on her truck and new keys made.
But when I went out this morning to take her truck to work, I realized we still needed the old keys to unlock the truck. Because even though the ignition got changed out, the door locks didn't.
But no worries. I'm super forgetful and forgot to throw out my old key for Moma's truck.
I sent Moma a superior text, u still need the old keys. if u want to unlock the doors.
Then I hopped out of the truck at work, locked the door, slammed it shut, and... stared at the one and only existing key to Moma's truck. Sitting there on the console. Inside the locked truck.
I sent mom a sheepish text, aaaand i locked the only key in the truck.
So me and my friend, Mary Ann, tried unlocking the door with a wire hanger. We even got it in the window, but the darn hanger kept wandering over towards the glove compartment and never would hit the unlock button.
Then we spent many minutes staring at each other, the wire hanger, and our reflections in the locked door's windows.
So I called a locksmith.
He stuck a wire exactly like mine into the same window I stuck my wire in thru, and had the door unlocked in less than 5 seconds.
I proposed to him on the spot.
I told him I had always wanted to marry a blacksmith. He told me he was a locksmith, not a blacksmith, and that there was a difference, and how was I planning on paying? Cash, check, or credit card?
I asked if I could at least buy one of those wires like he had, and he said no because then he might be out of a job.
It broke my heart to see him leave with that little wire hanger thingy. I could really use one of those.
After that, I tripped on the stairs.
Stepped on glass tile shards.
Got four splinters.
Ran into a tree.
Poked my eyeball with a french fry.
Poked my other eyeball with a bandaid.
Drove to the wrong town to pick up some plants.
Spilled a bucket of dirt over my head.
Stabbed myself with the clippers.
Sat on the clippers.
Clipped myself with the clippers.
Threw the clippers away.
I thought about how on Pollyanna, when the preacher stands up behind his pulpit in silence and then suddenly yells out, DEATH COMES UNEXPECTEDLY. And everyone jumps and that one lady's eyebrows go way up.
I thought about that several times today.
But on the bright side, I stayed very far, far away from my client's giant pool because I figured if ever there was a day meant for me to drown, today was the day.
I still need to take a shower and get all of that dirt out of my hair and other places.
But I'm kinda nervous about it.
I mean, what if I slip and fall and drown?
What if Anthony Perkins lurks under my bathroom sink? With a pair of clippers?
Pray for me, guys. Pray that I live until tomorrow.
I leave you with this picture of my adolescent self. Just in case I die in the shower.
She Who Is A Danger To Herself