Everyday we interact with the foulest and most devious little demons out there. The scariest thing is that we do not even realise until they have sucked all the joy from our souls. We hunt for them, high and low, as they hide just out of view, watching us and ruining our day. They use up too much of the precious time we have on this earth. We waste hours partaking in this search, this sick game they play. Yet, without them we are trapped. We are imprisoned behind our gates and electric fences. Without them we cannot leave our houses, lest we pay. Pay for someone to break the chains or pay for someone to take us away. A journey away that will begin with the question, the question we all hate asking but cannot seem to stop ourselves from blurting out: "how long have you worked for Uber?". This can mean one of two things. 1) You are planning to drink. 2)The devil has struck (which will probably lead you to drink). You cannot find your keys. Car keys, house keys, shed keys, keys for you diary, keys for your draw, keys for your crush's heart (it's unrequited, give up). Any and every key. I hate them all. They have a knack for sliding their slimy, sleezy selves all the way to the bottom of your bag whenever you need them. Your bag can be the size of a Provita but your keys will manage to Mary Poppins that bag like no one's business. If you have two sets of keys in your bag (say, car and house keys) and are looking for the car keys, you best know that you will be fishing out house keys 10 times in a row. Even if you were to staple the keys to your face, they would some how manage to get down there, to the depths and roll around with the lipstick you've also been looking for for about a month.
Today, I had a particularly bad key day. It was windy and cold and I had just been to the shops to pick up a few things. I got to my car to find that my keys were not in their usual compartment. I blindly rooted around my bag but soon realised that more active approach would be required. The next step was to unpack the bag's contents onto the roof of my car. This included everything I had just bought at the shops. Once the car looked like a little veggie garden on wheels (the type where the mushrooms grow in packets and soya beans grow as liquid in cartons. Very natural, very organic), I once again plunged my hand into the depth of my bag. It was empty now, right? Ah, there they were! Nope, those are my house keys. What is this? House keys again. Damn. Ah! A book. And this? Oh, it's the Rosetta Stone! Cool. House keys! House cat! House plant! The bike that was stolen when I was 8! The months worth of sleep I lost at university! Atlantis! Hurry! These are all very exciting things to find when my mushrooms aren't being blown away by the wind, the clouds aren't beginning to leak and my bladder isn't about to follow suite. Before I broke the window, I decided to give everything one last check. I just about torn the lining from my bag and patted myself down like I had just walked through an airport sensor with daggers and 40kgs of cocaine sellotaped to my chest. They were in my coat pocket. The coat pocket that I was sure I'd checked. They had clearly managed to crawl from my bag, evade my searching paw and only come to rest in my pocket when they had grown tired of their evil evil trickery. I scowled at the little blighters and muttered rude things to them. Big mistake, they were unimpressed and vengeful. I repacked my bag, got into my car and tried to put the keys into the ignition (hot and fresh out the kitchen, mama rolling that body, got every man in here wishing, I'm sippin' on coke and ruuum -hands down, turn around, touch the ground, Ignition is the best song in the world. I couldn't pass up the opportunity to type-sing it). Anyway, so I tried to put my keys into the ignition (hot and freshh.. stop it) but my keys were NO WHERE TO BE FOUND. I groaned loud enough for the person in the car next to me to turn to see if they had parked next to a bear. Dear holy Xenu, had I put them back into my bag? Xenu was not holy at this very moment. Or any moment in fact because Scientology is ... Scientology. There isn't much more to say. I unpacked my bag, mushrooms flew around the car, seats were ripped out, I took apart the radio, the glove box removed, mirrors smashed, tyres slashed, I was about to autopsy myself before I found them in the key-hole on the outside of the car. My blood boiled. My car has a centralised beeper locking thing!? I don't even use that key-hole! And yet there they were, clanging themselves together to create their evil, rattling laughter.
When I got home, essentially unable to walk due to bladder related pain, my car keys happily sprung out of my bag, hitting me in the face repeatedly, whereas the house keys were no where to be found. I fell to the floor and wept. I am now sitting in the garden under a make-shift shelter of palm leaves. It is a stormy night and I am writing this all into the soil. The fire I made has long since died, snuffed out by the rain. I expect to get pneumonia and be dead by morning. I will never see my pear seedlings reach adulthood. Their prime. I will know them only as the seeds they are now, in their mug in the fridge. Whoever takes them in, please look after them well. I hope they produce great pears.
Update on the seeds: they're still in the fridge. I put some more in but all 8 of the new ones floated. So that was useless.
Thanks for reading!
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