A few weeks ago, it became a little temperamental. Locking, unlocking, opening and closing whenever it felt like it. With two kids in tow, in crowded parking lots, this was a problem.
The huz suspiciously asked if I had been slipping the key in my sports bra during my runs-- implying that this was my fault.
"No", I answered innocently. But we probably both knew that I was lying.
Because I am alone when working out or racing, all of my possessions are locked in the van and the key is usually stuffed into my sports bra for safe keeping. Unfortunately, swimming in boob sweat isn't exactly the the definition of safe keeping. Bill had informed me that replacement of the key was probably not covered under the warranty and that it would cost something like $200 to replace.
So I was sitting in the waiting room at the car dealership. Drinking bad coffee, flipping through Golfers Digest and realizing that Nick Jr. has a way better morning lineup than ABC. I was preparing to shoulder the responsibility for this screw up. For this two hundred dollar screw up. I should have tied it to my shoes or in the drawstring of my shorts or stored it in some fancy running fanny pack. But now it was too late.
All I could do was try to think of a similar screw up by the huz. To ease my guilt. To make things feel a little more even. I was sure that there was something. He had to have broken something expensive around here. But what? Think, think, think....
Unfortunately, all I could think of was the time he had volunteered to go ahead early and hold our place at the town's Memorial Day Parade. Working with whatever was in the van, he used my yoga mat. He laid my yoga mat down on the dirty sidewalk and the kids trampled it for two hours. Yes, that showed some poor judgement. And yes, that was pretty annoying. But ultimately, nothing was destroyed.
Nice baseball chair.
Then there was the pumpkin carving incident of 2008. But again, nothing destroyed-- just a little scarring. Fear of closed spaces, fear of pumpkins, Halloween, that sort of thing.
This was a bad, bad idea.
There was also the time I sent him to get Will a haircut before our vacation. After explicitly explaining the 'short on the sides, longer on the top' summer cut I had wanted, my baby came home with a super short crew cut. Poor judgement? Check. Pretty annoying? Check. But again, nothing destroyed.
Ultimately, the service manager put my guilt to rest. He rescued me from the waiting room with the service slip which indicated that no money was owed. The official word was that the key 'had a short in it' and it was covered under the warranty. So we got a brand new spanking new one.
Soon I'll be heading to a running store to get me one of those fancy running belts. In the meantime, I've been stuffing this bad boy in my bra.
It's the master key that pulls out of the valet key. In two words: sharp and unpleasant. In two other words: guilt free.