(proof we know how to dress up)Halfway through the night, when I had consumed my quota of free white wine, and Mr. G had taken a few healthy slugs off his whiskey flask, Mr. G asked for the keys to Caroline the Corolla so he could get something from the car. I had the keys, you see, as I was the DD. I had driven us to the wedding hours before and had put the keys in my clutch. I grabbed my bag, searched for the keys...and they were not there.
It should be noted at this point that Caroline the Corolla has an attitude, and she locks automatically every 30 seconds if she is not already locked. So if you leave the keys in the car, you are really screwed.
I was pretty panicked. Mr. G was pretty drunk. Between us we were a spectacle. By a blessing sent from above, Caroline was UNLOCKED. But that didn't help us at all, as I had not left the keys in her ignition. Or anywhere in her beautiful blue body of a vehicle. The keys were nowhere to be found. Mr. G whipped out a flashlight and roamed the (muddy, wet, dark, long) driveway. I started to come up with a plan; I would call AAA, but wait! My AAA card is back in my regular purse at the hotel. And with that, the house keys, work keys, post office keys are on on my keychain! What am I going to do?! How could I lose the keys? I was the responsible one, where could I have put them? What on earth was I going to do?
Just as full on panic attack mode was setting in, Caroline chirped, as if someone had just clicked the "lock" button on my keychain. And I looked up and Mr. G had the keys.
They were in his pocket the whole time. Because an hour earlier, he had apparently taken them from my clutch to get something else from the car. And he never put them back. And whiskey makes you forget where you put other people's keys.
The bastard.
Happy (??!!) Monday,
Granny
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