Huzzah! Shazam!

Seek and ye shall find...

Inspired by T's discovery of my lost wedding ring, Randy decided to dig into The Chair. A word of explaination here: The Chair sits in a corner of the kitchen where it has become my favorite roosting spot for writing and web surfing--mostly because I can see a fair portion of the lower floor from it's location, and because it's mighty comfy. Randy swears I sit in it so much that it's developed what Homer Simpson once called, an "a** groove." I disagree. Ahem.

So anyway, this afternoon I was typing away in the bedroom at Randy's desk when I began to hear my hubby laughing, and laughing...and laughing so hard that he'd reached that peak of suppressed mirthful hysteria that induces tears.

I ran to the kitchen thinking T was doing something obnoxiously cute and I'd missed it. "What? What?"

Randy's butt was halfway in the air, and one arm was jammed down into a crevice of The Chair. His face was bright red, and he could barely breathe. "You ever--" he gasped and then tried again, "you ever see those clown cars--" More laughter, more tears. He pulled his arm out. "You know, when they just keep coming out?" More wheezing.

I walked over and inspected the table next to the chair. An pair of dancing insects toy, one drumstick, a comb, a knitting needle and safety stop, one universal remote--and two sets of keys lay there. "Holy Toledo."

"Look, honey! It's the set of keys I lost about a month after we moved here!"

I had looked under the cushion of that chair a dozen times. "All that was down in that crack?" Everything was filthy with hair and lint and generally unidentifiable brown goo. "Yuck."

"And your keys!" My keys, my precious keys with the remote keyless entry that costs about a hundred bucks to replace...

I didn't know whether to dance a jig or throw up.

But I'm happy now. Those Clorox wipes are a real psychological assest when I'm faced with moments of abominable domestic ick.

Shazam, huzzah and hot dang for me. I'm back in the modern world.