Penetance

Standard

So yesterday, Craig heard a horrific loud moaning noise coming from the basement and rushed down, wondering what the rabbits had ruined this time.

He instead discovered his wife standing by the dryer, holding a pair of jeans and looking literally sick to her stomach.

Cut to Thursday evening.

E: “Hey, I want to fill the bird feeders but the shed is locked-can you grab the keys for me?”
C: “Sure.” Long pause. “I don’t seem to be finding them.”
E: “What do you mean? I gave them to you when you were going to mow the other day. Where did you put them? Did you check your jeans? Your jacket?”
C: “I’ll find them, it’s getting dark- lets worry about it later.”

Later comes….

E: “I’m really getting tired of not being able to get into the shed. How about finding those keys someday?”
C: “If you give me an hour, I’ll go outside (in the freezing cold) and see if I dropped them in the leaves. It is too bad we’ve lost them.”
E: “WE’VE lost them? Excuse me- I think YOU lost them and YOU are going to find them. In fact, I don’t think I remember you apologizing over all of this. It’s ridiculous how you can never find anything, every time I turn around you are losing things…blah, blah blah.” (Okay, so you totally know where this is headed, right?)

So Craig looks in the leaves for the keys for about an hour with no luck, and he comes inside empty-handed and I disparage him some more and the he goes out with a screwdriver and takes the door off the hinges so that I can feed the freaking birds. And so then, lets jump back to Sunday as I am doing laundry…

And as I load the clothes I reach into a pocket and pull out…. the keys.

In. My. Jeans.


The man is a saint, and I am one horrific, well- you all know the word.


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