To Lose One's Keys

You know Alexander,

The one who had a terrible, horrible,

No good, very bad day?

Yeah, that’s me.

My daughter’s favorite bedtime story.

I’ve misplaced my keys,

Again.

It’s not like I’m going to a job interview,

Or anything. And running late,

Of course.

I really need this job.

What was I looking for again?

Right, my keys.

Now where could they be?

They’re not in this jacket,

Or that cardigan.

They’re not in my purse.

Did I leave them in the ignition?

Or in the trunk? No.

Next check the mailbox,

Then the doormat, stair, and counter.

So much for the normal places.

How about the fridge, or the microwave—

Perhaps the dishwasher or the craft closet.

I check the washer and dryer.

Swipe a pile of princess undies onto the floor.

Empty all the pockets on the pants.

Well looky here!

Too bad twenty bucks can’t start my car.

I’m out of ideas.

And ten minutes late.

No, twenty.

What was I looking for again?

Then I hear the feeble quaking voice: "Mommy,

Are you playing hide-and-seek with your keys again?"

The tremble almost makes me forget—

Forget what the question was.

"I found them in the oven—

Again."

I chuckle and say thanks.

Walk out the door.

Now where was I going?