It wasn’t until last week when I was trying to get into my mother-in-law’s house with extra food that I realized none of my keys worked on her front door. Awkward, especially given I’d told her I had one and sure, I’d be happy to get there early to help set things up before people started showing up after the funeral.
Story of my life, I suppose – but in some ways, I think keys really are some of the best examples of people’s life details. You can see what types of cars I drive, for example. You can see that I obviously shop at Giant. And CVS. And I’ve got a nice little shout out to David Garrett there too, simply because I’m a dork.
But then it gets a bit puzzling. I’ve got my housekey. My PO Box key. And…I have NO friggin clue about the rest of them. Certainly none of them fit in my MIL’s front door, anyway. I think one may be to my dad’s house. And maybe one goes to the house we sold…five years ago.
And I’d just take them off, but WHAT if I run into that particular door for that particular key three years from now and I’m being chased by zombies and if I don’t have the key I won’t be able to get to safety?
Or at least that’s what my inner voice rambles on about when I suggest that I don’t need them. In some ways writing is a bit like this too. So many ideas for stories or for plot points where I don’t always write them down (bad author!). Six months later I go back to the idea in my head, only now I can’t remember the context. So now I’m stuck with a bunch of useless ideas and I have NOWHERE to put them.
Labels. They’re a good thing.
On the other hand? So is dumping keys you don’t need anymore.