Oh, wait. THAT WASN'T ME.
I looked for my keys for over an HOUR this morning. I looked for them, retraced my steps from last night, thought where I might have dropped them, and looked some more.
I went through the laundry and the garbage. I called my husband at work and my son at kindergarten (he told me to look in the key drawer. Thanks, son.)
I had to find my keys because I had errands to run, a meeting to attend (which I missed,) and I was hoping to spend some quality time (or its modern equivalent; QT is so eighties) with the younger kids, who were waiting for me in the car.
Finally, near tears and at my wit's end, I called SJ for the fourth time and asked him to leave work to bring me his key (we don't have an extra set since it's one of those keys with a chip in it and I already lost the valet key.)
He gallantly agreed, and even pushed back a meeting with his boss.
As I hung up the phone, I walked into the living room, a room I hadn't visited in the last two days. There, on the corner of the train table, peeking out from under some toys, were my keys.
Son of a *$^%@.
So, rather than curse the little
And off we went.