doncha wanna come home?

Dear Keys (that I have lost),

I did not mean to lose you, and yet, your being away from home (an assumption based on my 2 hours of frantic searching with a flashlight to check dark spaces) is entirely my fault. I knew you were gone from your safe place (my pocket) from last night, because for some reason, I thought I had left you in the car.

I went to the shop to look for you in my Crown, but since I did not see you right away, I figured you were in my wife’s car. Now that I’ve searched my wife’s car three times with increasing levels of thoroughness, the last time even checking under floor mats and seat backs, I’m truly sorry I did not look harder through my Crown when I had the chance. I’ll do it tomorrow, I promise.

Please be there. Please wait for me. I will come for you, I promise (especially the spare key to my wife’s car that’s laser cut and has an embedded IC chip which has the twin qualities of being both [A] a great theft deterrent and [B] outrageously expensive — I’m coming for you, babies). Whether you be in daddy’s Crown, or at the copy shop behind the university, or at my desk at work (probably not, I just called a late-working coworker to check for me), or at the car audio shop, or at the body shop, or at one of several 7-11s I buy the human baby’s milk boxes at, I WILL COME FOR YOU!

My word is bond, yo.

All I ask is that you give me another chance.

Love,
J

P.S. I must admit that if it weren’t for you, you goddamn chip-embedded laser-cut bastard darling, I wouldn’t have bothered writing this.

2 Replies to “doncha wanna come home?”

  1. Dad hates when that happens.
    Have you looked in your shoes? Your brother (when he was a toddler) had a penchant for putting dad’s key’s in shoes or the toilet, oy!

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