This past summer has been a strange one for us. Having a broken ankle definitely kept us home more than usual, but I was determined to not let it put a damper on fulfilling the summer bucket list the boys had made. On that list was camping. Thankfully, we heard of a family friendly camping area that wasn’t too far from home. It has lots of fun activities to do on site–swimming pool, play grounds, a fully stocked fishing pond. But, what sold it for me–golf carts. We drove that thing everywhere and it was AWESOME!
One afternoon, we had just enjoyed a bit of a rest time in the camper and decided it was time to head back to the pool. We all changed into our swimsuits and piled in the golf cart.
One problem. Where was the golf cart key? We looked under clothes, we looked under cushions, we looked in the truck, we searched the ground. Nothing. Where the heck was it? Did someone come along and steal it? Why would someone steal the key, but not the golf cart? These were the questions we were asking as we began to feel a bit more frantic.
It was clear that this was turning into a VERY stressful situation. Since, I wasn’t much use in helping search and the boys were getting impatient–we decided I should just walk (hobble) them down to the pool and Super Rockstar would stay behind and do a more thorough search. The boys got right to splashing and playing, but I felt worried. I kept checking my phone and looking for him to come walking through the gate any second with some story of how the key had fallen between a cushion or something.
After two hours (removing everything from the camper, scouring the grounds and even searching his truck), he still had no luck finding the key, so he went to the camp office. They gave us a replacement key (no charge, thankfully), but, neither of us could shake the frustration of trying to figure out what had happened to the original. It just didn’t make any sense that we couldn’t find it–for it to just disappear like that.
Upon returning to our camper, Super Rockstar and the boys changed clothes and then left me to my privacy. I sat down on this bench area we have and as I slid my bathing suit bottoms down I heard a clink. I looked behind me and there–right next to me–was our golf cart key.
I sat there in stunned silence for a few seconds–as the gravity of the whole situation hit me. I remembered that I had sat in the exact same spot to put my suit on. It dawned on me that the key had probably been there and as I scooped my suit into position–I had apparently scooped the key with it.
Folks–the key. It had been stuck to my butt. The entire time.
There were several thoughts running through my head:
- “How humiliating! How could a key be stuck to my rear end and me not know it or feel it?! The diet starts TODAY!”
- “How am I supposed to explain to Super Rockstar that he spent nearly two hours scouring every inch of our camper, his truck and our camp ground– when the missing key was stuck like glue to my right cheek as I hobbled away to enjoy the pool?
- “Is there any way I can put the key in a place that maybe he forgot to look and pretend that I just found it?”
As I opened the camper door and caught Super Rockstar’s eye–I dangled the key so he could see it. “Where the _________(bleep) was it?!” he demanded. I hemmed and hawed– desperate for the ground to just open up and swallow me. Finally, I stammered out what had happened.
I honestly don’t know which was worse for him–the realization that he had wasted all that time looking or the reality that his wife (of almost 24 years) just keeps “giving” in blooper department–with no end in site.