The Key to Good Driving is Taking Care of Your Car Keys


The Key to Good Driving is Taking Care of Your Car Keys

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Well, as you would surely expect, Grumpy was involved in a few incidents in Florida that caused a little consternation with the Good Wife. You see, Grumpy has a genetic flaw when it comes to his vehicle. Quite often old-timers disease sets in and this forgetfulness puts him in the doghouse. This happened on two occasions in Florida.
Both incidents involved his car keys.

Now, Grumpy has a possessive only-child-syndrome relationship with his car keys. He will not allow anyone to touch them, use them nor come close to touching them.

They are HIS keys, plain and simple!

He only feels secure when they are safely ensconced in his pocket.

(EDITOR’S NOTE: No one is allowed to touch Grumpys flashlight in Florida. Hey, he has his name printed on it for crying out loud.)

 INCIDENT NUMBER ONE

 In the beginning it was a beautiful sunny day.

 The Good Wife was asked by our niece to help Great Grandma watch her two young lads aged three and one – going on terrible two. It was felt that two Grandmothers were better than one. This would be a tag team matchup.

 As it turns out, Grumpy was conscripted to go along with Great Grandma to the pool, seeing as the good wife, being a redhead, is not one to spend much time in the sun. This would be someone in their seventies and Grumpy in his mid-sixties attempting to entertain two children whose cumulative age was less than five. No matter, by and large little kids think elderly people are pretty funny.

 Well everything went very well, considering there was a light rain and a severe wind. Grumpy was totally involved in imaginative play with his great-nephew. They were making toast and mushroom meals, splashing the water to make soup and swimming the width of the pool to gather broccoli from their other “house”. There were plenty of giggles and guffaws.
Meanwhile, great Grandma took the little on to the showers to give him a good scrub.

 ALI VELSHISuddenly, Grumpy notice two women sprinting across the pool deck towards the gate. At the same time the wind suddenly gusted to a hurricane force blow. Turning around, he saw the incoming sky approaching as black as night and as threatening as a thunder storm. In minutes the prevailing atmosphere was about to morph into a Florida squall of Armageddon proportions.

 Grabbing his charge by the hand he hollered, “We gotta run for the pool room door. Drop your broccoli, put the mushrooms and toast away. Grab the soup! Let’s boogie!”

 Hand in hand the waddling senior and the almost three year old burst through the door just as the torrent began. It was raining cats and dogs and maybe sheep and cows as well. Raindrops were bouncing high off the pavement like thousands of super balls.

 That little boy and over-the-hill Grumpy ended up being trapped in the pool room for about 30 minutes.
Now, upon returning to the in-laws doublewide an hour later, Grumpy was greeted by that “look”. You know that look. It’s the one your spouse has refined to perfection. It would be the one where you’re thinking retreat and capitulation are your only option. Running and hiding might just be you’re only choice.

 GOOD WIFE: “Where are the car keys, Grumpy?” (Foot tapping and crossed arms are not good signs.)

 GRUMPY: “Well, of course, they’re right here in my pocket!” (Looking down at the floor seemed like a good thing to do.)

 GOOD WIFE: “Well it might have been nice if you left them here so we could have closed the car windows during that downpour.”

 You see those automatic windows don’t work without the keys in the ignition.

 The stare that she stared had now morphed into the stare of death. If Grumpy had a tail it would surely be between his legs.

 All that he could emit from his parched dry mouth was a whispered Homer Simpson-like, “Doh!”

 Apparently Grumpys wife and father-in-law had scrambled in the pouring rain to seal up the open windows with towels, sop up the water on the car mats, as well as sponge off the seat so they wouldn’t become saturated. They did all of this whilst the rain came down in buckets. Grumpy is sure that they were both soaking wet when all was said and done. Two eyes staring like daggers confirmed this to him – in spades.

 As is his strategy when “Jimbo Moments” occur, and life and death situations evolve, Grumpy turned to his little great nephew for a diversion and asked, “Do you think there’s any broccoli out back on the deck?”

 When the little one responded with a resounding, “Yaaaa!”, Grumpy knew that an almost three year old had just saved his bacon. Well, at least for the moment, because sooner or later Grumpy would have to return to 101 Beaverkill, and you guessed it, his tail would be firmly ensconced between his legs.

 For the time being he confidently declared, “Let’s make soup, buddy!”

INCIDENT NUMBER TWO

Clowncar

 The Good Wife and Grumpy always venture out to their favorite Beall’s Outlet Store on the last morning of their Florida vacation. This year they scored big time, purchasing $200 worth of items with listed price tags of well over $500+. For example, Grump picked up some Dockers Denim jeans (List price $58.00) for less than twenty bucks.

 Upon their return to 101, the Good Wife suggested that Grumpy leave the windows down, seeing as it was sunny and getting hotter. He complied even though he recalled that stare of death from a few days before. He did not want another window incident to complicate his day. But, what the heck could go wrong?

 Right?

 He did have some trouble getting them adjusted – he must have zipped them (The Windows) up and down about 20 times to get them properly orientated. A few expletive deletives were used to assist in this process.

 Satisfied that he had accomplished a job well-done, Grumpy took off for his final tanning session and gabfest at the pool. He gave himself an hour and half timeline, given that he had to pack, load the vehicle, take the mountain of beer cans to the recycle bin and complete various sundry tasks. He is, after all, a dutiful husband.

 Upon his return, Grumpy gathered the beer cans and headed for the car, hoping to take care of those recyclables. Tapping his pocket, he stopped dead in his tracks

 NO FREAKING CAR KEYS!

Now when Grumpy loses something near and dear to his heart his usual response involves a lot of arm flapping and boisterous blasphemy. Before long, he was running around like chicken with its head cut off!

 “Honey, I can’t find my keys. Where are my keys? Where the heck did I leave them? # % $ # @!!!!!!”

 The Good Wife, for the most part, ignores Grumpy’s antics. Indeed, she calmly said, “Don’t worry they’ll turn up! No worries!”

 Minutes later, Grumpy’s voice had risen to a crescendo, not unlike the squeal of a little girl. Just then, a soft knocking came from the trailer’s metal door.

 TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP!

 Grumpy stopped firm in his tracks. Gingerly he opened the door. There stood a nicely dressed grandmotherly lady with a pleasant smile on her face. He had no idea who this woman was!

 “Hi, I’m your neighbour from next door. I heard you calling out that you’d lost your keys. (EDITOR’S NOTE: These trailer’s walls are as thin as paper.) I heard a ding-ding sound about an hour ago. I checked your car and the keys were in the ignition. I hope you don’t mind that I took them out and left them on the seat. I thought your battery probably was running down.”

 Grumpy was so happy he felt like giving that lady a smackeroo-type kiss right on the lips. But, of course, in the interest of self-preservation he did not.

 Thanking the lady profusely, Grumpy hustled out to the Clown Car, turned the ignition and, guess what? He got nothing but a putt-putt sputter and a buzz. That battery was deader than a door nail and then some.

 Before Grumpy could begin another arm flapping boisterous blasphemy attack he heard these words.
“Hey, Grumpy how are ya?”

 There, on a big red bicycle, peddled Grumpy’s Knight in Shining Armour. Darwin, his father-in-law, had just made the turn onto Beaverkill.

 You see the main modes of transportation in Saddlebag Park are by foot, by golf cart, by moped and by bicycle. (Speed limit 15 mph)

 After explaining his most recent embarrassing “Jimbo Moment”, Darwin peddled off saying, “I’ll be right back with the van and some jumper cables!”

 Needless to say, within minutes Grumpy was back on track, heading out to the bin to dump his mountain of beer cans.

belt Grumpy realizes that age, if not beer, is starting to take its toll on his memory and thought processes. That’s why he’s heading out to Crappy Tire today to purchase one of those belt-held retractable tether thing-a-ma-bobs to attach his car keys to. As long as he’s wearing his new Dockers Denims with a belt, his keys will never again remain in the ignition when he walks away.

 Oh my, this solution could cause other problems. Grumpy has visions of face plants dancing in his head!

No doubt, he’ll be writing a BLOG about that incident in the not too distant future.

 Until then, stay classy, my friends.

FACEPLANT

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