On Monday, I left the house early, feeling smug. I had carefully packed my gym bag, and left it un-missably opposite the front door. I had a plan. I was going to go to work, then pop home and rush straight out to the gym. ‘Golly,’ I thought as I slammed my front door. ‘It is so easy to be organised. Why do people make such a fuss about it?’
It wasn’t until I got to work that I realised I had forgotten my keys.
Luckily, my housemate (junior doctor, coming off 3 consecutive night-shifts) was at home, lounging around in her bed, so I quickly ran the front door bell upon my return until she stumbled downstairs to let me in.
Yesterday, I was at the theatre, so naturally I ignored the several missed calls I received from both my housemate and my little sister. I arrived home cheerfully just before midnight. ‘Hello!’ I yelled as I entered our flat. ‘I see you guys missed me. But I am home now.’ I was greeted with a frosty silence by my little sister, who had apparently had to curtail her own evening to deliver keys to my housemate, who had forgotten hers. ‘Well,’ I said briskly. ‘That’s very silly.’ My housemate made a facial expression which I believe embodied both her contrition and her quiet appreciation of my words of wisdom.
Today, I forgot my keys.