Keyed

We all have those mornings. Take for example, one's keys. There are many different ways a guy's keys could interfere with that frenzied-rush-to-get-out-the-door-efficiency required some mornings when it's important to be early or something needs to be prepped before work or someone needs a ride or whatever. So keys are pretty much key, aren't they? Keys don't always cooperate though. Familiar scenarios follow. Maybe...

1. I can't find my keys.
2. I have the wrong set of keys.
3. I left my keys in my other coat.
4. My key won't work.
5. Someone stole my car so my keys are useless. It could happen. That reminds me of the time
6. One of my teens borrowed my car but came home without it and well, you know that parking-lot-I-have-no-freaking-idea-where-my-car-is-feeling. That.
7. My dog ate my keys.
8. My kid dropped my keys in the toilet. (It's happened to several people apparently.)
9. My keys are at the bottom of the lake/river/swamp/ocean/vat of cheese dip.
10. My wife drove six hours away for the weekend with her keys and my keys. (True story.)

BUT HERE'S A NEW ONE.

I'm going to be presumptuous and declare that this has NEVER HAPPENED TO ANYONE ELSE ON EARTH except me and sure, that's probably exaggeration but wait, maybe not.

Rushing to my car one early sunny beautiful morning recently, I stepped off my deck and onto my driveway, my keys in my right hand. Suddenly I realized I had walked right into one of those cobwebs that spiders like to clothesline us unsuspecting humans with, likely to enjoy the effect of seeing us humans flail around in irrational horror while those same spiders record the drama on their tiny iPhones with the intent to upload footage to Arachni-you-tube and get lots and lots of hits, go viral, impress their friends, and become famous before someone crushes them with a shoe, repeatedly. (My bitterness will be explained momentarily). Anyway, instinctively I reached up to frantically remove that spider silk from my face and promptly shoved my car key up my right nostril into my brain aka a self-administered mini-lobotomy.

OUCHNESS.

If there is indeed an Arachni-you-tube, I suspect I'm famous too.