sweaty keys

I'm famous for getting locked out of places...

mostly just my car and my house. I distribute my spare keys around to my friends and neighbors so my poor dogs don't get left without food, water, and potty breaks on a regular basis. After all, who wouldn't want to help a face like this....that's Buster, by the way.

So, here is one of my most famous key stories, and since it relates to running, I am posting it on my blog.

I moved to the STL area about four years ago from the Denver area. There is a very popular park named Washington Park (locals call it Wash Park...not Warsh Park, as people who live in southern IL would call it) that is frequented by runners. They actually have a great 5k run there called the Furry Scurry...you have to be a dog lover to appreciate it.

One lovely Memorial Day weekend, my roomie at the time (and one of my best buds) decided to go for a run in the park. We made pancakes before we went and decided to bring the leftovers to feed the ducks (Coffee Betsy, I thought of you and Jack's goose episode when I wrote this).

When we arrived at Wash Park, we left the pancakes on the dash of the car, locked the car, and went on our merry way. A couple of laps around the park later, I took the key out of my shorts' key pocket, retrieved the pancakes, and relocked the car. Now, in between the ducks and the car was a VERY large, grassy field, littered with picnicking couples and napping weekenders. We cooled down, walking across the field, and feed the duckies. When we arrived back at the car...tada!!!!....no key. Crap. Crap. Crappity. Crap. Crap. Crap. Now, Kir always had a theory that if she just counted to ten, I would find my keys. Her theory usually works, but not this time. So, we proceeded to retrace our steps across the field, sifting through lots, and lots of grass....looking, well, like total morons. No key. No key at the duck pond. Crap.

So, we approached a non-psycho looking picnic person and asked to borrow their cell phone. She agreed. I also had to ask her if she happened to have the number for AAA. She did. Denverites can be a friendly and useful bunch. So, a few phone calls and several hours of waiting in the field, I paid out the arse for a locksmith to come on a holiday and break into my car...so I could get at my spare key...which of course was conveniently INSIDE the car.

On the way home, we stopped at Safeway. Sitting in the grassy field for several hours made me into a swollen-eyed sneezy mess....had to get allergy relief. We both had to pee too. Once in the bathroom, I pulled down my shorts and tada!!!!!! Wouldn't you know it?! I heard the tell tale klink-klink of my key falling to the floor.....it was stuck to my sweaty stomach.....and not in my key pocket. Niiiiicccce. I walked out of the bathroom and said, "Guess what I found?!"

It's a good thing Kir loves me, because otherwise I wouldn't be alive right now. I maaaay have ended up at the bottom of the duck pond.