The Keys To It All

I came back from this morning's blood draw (a 45-minute wait for a 2-minute jab and draw) to find our apartment door stuck. Not having a great deal of upper body strength, I naturally assumed Robin had forgotten that he wasn't supposed to lock the door before his morning nap, reached into my hip pack for my keys, and found... nothing. I started banging on the door as I frantically searched. Still nothing but a justifiably disturbed husband who assured me that the door was just stuck and I needed to put more effort into opening it the next time. "Never mind that," I exclaimed in a state of near panic, "I can't find my keys!" Well, long story short, they were buried in the hip pack we took with us to England, in a zippered portion I'd neglected to search the first and second time I went through everything. Robin being the calming influence he is, I was ore or less back to normal by lunchtime, caught up on job stuff, and the keys are now back in my current hip pack where they belong. I really dislike scaring myself so much.