The key is the key
Rob picked me up yesterday in my car, presumably because he prophetically knew that he’d find enormous Yamaha speakers at Goodwill and we’d need a way to get them home. He brought along both spare keys to my car for some reason.
At Goodwill, to make room for the speakers, I removed the empty box the toilet came in and asked for his knife so I could break it down. (What? Your boyfriend doesn’t carry a knife at all times for no apparent reason?) He handed me his keys, which have a folding knife on a keychain. He was still loading the speakers when I was done, so I put his keys in my purse.
Cut to 10 minutes ago, when he called to ask if I’d seen his keys. Why yes, I answered, looking in my purse. I have them right here, along with all three keys to my car. Which was irrelevant because I drove myself to work today.
Lucky for him, I knew where he could find a spare key to his car and a spare key to the house. But if I hadn’t, he’d only have himself and his need for those enormous Yamaha speakers to blame.