Why Are My Keys In The Fridge?

Staring into the fridge wondering what the hell you are looking for. Standing in the middle of the room completely lost. Re-tracing your steps trying to remember where you dropped your keys.

We all do it. Stressed? Age? Just too much going on? Nothing else to occupy the mind? Blame it on the booze? All of the above? Probably.

A few months before I left Toronto for the Dominican Republic was a busy time for me. One day I was having a social call with friends and thought I would squeeze in a visit to my tattoo artist. I had puttered about thoughout the day and was just getting ready to leave. I popped a token for the street car in my coat pocket, (for easy access) and grabbed my purse and keys and headed off.

The street car came quickly and it wasn’t terribly busy, I had a seat to my self. I sat, content, watching life on King Street cruise by. My first trek would take me to the Yonge Street subway stop and then up Yonge Street. I decide I’d better check on my money situation, or ‘sitch’ as the kids may or may not say, and was shocked to the core to find not my wallet but the remote control for my stereo.

We were just approaching the Spadina stop and I hurried off and crossed the street. I had no wallet, no money and no method to pay for a return trip home. Lucky it wasn’t rush hour and so when I got on the West bound Street car to return home, I sheepishly explained my situation, or, ‘sitch’ and to be honest, the driver seemed mostly unconcerned. I know they hear all kinds of excuses, Hell, I’ve heard all kinds of excuses. He wasn’t really concerned, I showed him my recent transfer but when I opened my bag and pulled out the remote and then showed him the rest of the contents, he actually laughed. He was still chuckling when he motioned his hand for me to pass and take a seat.

I missed the tattoo artist that day. When I got back home I just drank wine until it was time to go to Brad’s.

Ya. Booze. I blame the booze.



2 thoughts on “Why Are My Keys In The Fridge?

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