The joke at my house is I’m a bit of a germ-o-phoebe… but really, I’m not. I swear! I just like things clean…. er something like that anyway.
So let me paint the picture… I was running late for work, got my clothes on, make-up, teeth brushed, shoes on and was ready to run out the door when I realized I couldn’t locate my car keys.
What, seriously? I stood in the living room retracing my steps from the day before trying to see if I could figure out where on earth they wound up.
I ran into the bedroom, not there, checked the pocket of the jeans I wore the day before, Nada. Shoot… Looked at my watch and realized I need to get going, where are those darn keys.
I pulled out my purse and emptied its contents on the couch… Nada.
Ok my house is only so big, maybe they ran off with that stupid mop and bucket.
By this point I spinning in circles trying to decide which direction to go and not coming up with an answer.
I was so desperate I almost called hubby… almost.
That’s when I realized he had my keys last night in his pocket. And sadly enough I got his jeans in the washer last night… dagnabit… This happened again…
This is the second time I’ve found my keys in the washer due to hubby’s jeans. Oh well they still work, so that’s good, right?!?!
And he makes fun of me for washing paper in my pants. I’ve washed bolts & nuts & my car keys x2… and in Tbug’s jeans I’ve washed chapstick and paper…