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This past weekend marked the twentieth time I have locked myself out of my own vehicle.
Admittedly, that’s a rough estimate. But it’s probably not all that rough.
I was going running (sixth week of Couch to 5K, by the way, thankyouverymuch), and decided that I would tuck the key to my car in a tiny zippered compartment right above my jiggly bum. This tiny contraption is courtesy of the super awesome pants that Dave bought me for Christmas. But since it’s so tiny and located directly above my rearend, I thought it best to cut down on bulk and take only the key to the ignition and not the little button pad that locks and unlocks the doors.
Mark: this was a conscious choice.
You know that fleeting moment when you wonder if something will pose a problem for you and that you might want to pursue it to ensure that you are wrong but you convince yourself that you’re being illogical and choose to ignore it? I think it’s called laziness. Or apathy. At any rate, for a moment I wondered whether or not I needed the button thingamajig to get back in my car but told myself that was silly and that ignition keys always open doors as well. I locked the button whats-it in my car, tucked the ignition key into the secret ass pocket, and took off. I ran, I succeeded, I got back to the car, and the key failed.
Failed hard.
It’s unfortunate because I was hot off the victory of my week 6 run and excited to get back in the car and go take a much-needed shower. I’m not a natural-born exerciser. You know, one of those dames who can fun 5 miles and have a soft, beautiful glisten? I was bred to sit on couches and play video games and eat potato chips. When I perform a task any more strenuous than brushing my teeth, I immediately break out in a coating of sweat not unlike the look of a sloppily glazed donut. I needed that shower. Instead, I was outside my car fumbling around at the keyholes in the cold. I decided to conquer the situation with my mind. I deemed it a logical impossibility that my ignition key would not also lock and unlock the doors, and prayed to sweet baby Jesus to please do some sort of automobile miracle for me on this 28 degree day.
That also failed.
I was visiting my hometown and only knew one person in the area that I still kept in touch with on a regular basis and was within walking distance. Unfortunately, I hadn’t seen her in about a year and didn’t want her first impression of me to be fresh off a 2-mile, just-out-of-bed-and-now-a-glazed-human run. But I had no choice: I needed someone with AAA and someone in her house had to have it. I didn’t know that for a fact. I just knew her family, and her family was chock full of folks who would really need something like AAA.
The sister was my winner. In fact, I cashed in on her third and final lock out call of the year. Score.
I finally got in the car and got to my cell phone to call Dave and tell him about how incredibly stupid I am, which I am apt to do on an almost-weekly basis. I like to remind him that I need him around because when without, I can’t really function easily like other human beings. Without his assistance, I’d be wandering the streets of the city barefoot and coat-less with only a kittens and slices of leftover pizza in a knapsack to accompany me.
Actually, that doesn’t sound so bad.
As it turns out, David had told me only one month ago that my key pad was absolutely required to open the car and I said that was no problem and why would I ever not just use the key pad. Though I pretended not to remember this conversation, I had a movie scene flashback to my exact location at the time of its happening. I was flippant. And I had just paid the price.
Sometimes I just don’t listen to Dave because I don’t feel like it. I tell him I won’t take a coat outside because I don’t need it and then I ask to borrow his only a few hours after. I tell him I don’t need to wear sneakers because sneakers look stupid with my sweater and then I ask him to stop somewhere to buy flats because my feet look like they were attacked by badgers.
And I also tell him to stop rambling on about using the key pad and then lock myself out of the car because I forget that I need it.
Therefore, I have deemed 2012 the year that Dave is always right. I’m boldly going where no woman has gone before. I’ve dedicated 2012 to blindly following wherever Dave will lead me. I have a good feeling it will involve more jackets, better shoe choices, and fewer lockouts. It’s a win-win. Either I find he’s not right and I can carry on henceforth not heeding his advice, or I’ll find that he’s almost always right and become a more efficient, more put-together human being.
Here’s hoping the latter also means less lockouts. ♣
