Short Road Trip

Standing outside my car, I realize have no keys. Not in my gym bag. Not in my pockets. Meaning that I left them inside my now-locked-house.

Knowing what I'll find, I try all the doors and windows to the house. They're locked tighter than a nun's knees. I'd have to try brute force. Of course my luck is such that I'd only end up hurting myself and I'd still be locked out.

Grudgingly, I call Cindy. But she is ensnared by the early-Monday-morning woes of a bunch of elementary kids. She can't rescue me.

So I walk. Button-up shirt. Dress pants. But 6o degrees and two blocks to the school. It's a short road trip. Almost uneventful. Almost. Maybe five houses away from the school. A blur of white and a shrill screech of barking suddenly announces a Jack Russell Terrier. When I don't run away screaming, it realizes I'm markedly bigger than it is, and trots back to the safety of its driveway, yapping all the while. I snap his picture and wave goodbye.

Grab Cindy's keys.

Walk back home.

Unlock the front to fetch my own keys.

Drop off the loaners to my beloved bride.

And head to the office.

Just a short road trip today.