Dude, Where’s My Car?

I used to think that I am with either the most forgetful man or the most lazy man on this planet.  I was just trying to figure out which and in the end, it was neither.

The first time I heard him yell out in a panic, “I can’t find my keys!”  I jumped up, my heart racing, as I frantically searched the room with him.  Lost keys…disaster!  I always worry about losing my keys but I never had (knock on wood), probably because I always take great care in always knowing where I put them.  What rotten luck, I thought.  He’s going to be late for his meeting if we don’t find them soon.  Fortunately, keys were found and I was the hero that day.

But after the second, the third, the fortieth, the hundredth time I was the hero, it got a bit old.  Seriously, we have a magnetic bar at our entrance that you just lift your keys up and they stick there.  How much easier can it get?  Yet, his keys are never there.

And if not his keys, then his phone charger, his shoes, his phone, his wallet, the milk, you name it.

I saw a random book in a random store titled, “Pat, The Husband”.  It was a satirical look at a husband and there was one page that had a picture of Pat, the husband, staring into the fridge yelling out, “Where’s the milk?”, and the wife yelling back, “Behind the orange juice.”.  That’s me and Armando!  Be it forgetful of where he left his keys or too lazy to move the orange juice to see the milk, it appears to not be a forgetful thing or a lazy thing but a man thing.  And I guess the woman thing is to swoop in with her spandex bodysuit and flowing cape to save the day, or in my case, a pair of jeans that I insist that I can still fit into and my flowing 3/4 length sweater.

Now I’m not sure I like this discovery.  When I thought it was Armando, I was hopeful that I could teach him to be more organized or that he would learn patience when looking for something before yelling for assistance.  But, I guess I have to accept the fact that this is something engraved in his Y chromosome and that I will have to play the hero every time I hear, “Babe, where’s the…?”.  Or, do I have to default into that role?

I got a call from him the other day.  He was at the mall.  “Babe, I can’t find my car.  I was on the phone and didn’t pay attention to what entrance I parked at and now I can’t find it!”

I immediately started thinking of how I could help but then stopped.  “Dude, good luck with that.  Let me know once you find it,” I laughed.  And with that, I threw away my hero status, at least for one day.  And it was great Smile

Can anyone relate to this?  Post on my blog to let me know I’m not alone!

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4 thoughts on “Dude, Where’s My Car?

  1. Pingback: Armando’s Trip to the Barber | westcoastprairiegirl

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