The Missing Key

Hello everybody :)  What time is it? Blog time! (...yay.)

So, this story begins in Derbyshire, where I, being the fantastic and brilliant girlfriend that I am, had taken my boyfriend for his birthday for a couple of days. We were staying in a nice quaint countryside inn, and we were enjoying the countryside and sickening the waiting staff with our loved up state ('No darling, I love you more!!')

 It was all going swimmingly, until we were packing up to leave. We had just put everything in the car and had to check out before 11am. It was around 10:45am. The car was ready. We were ready. We just needed to hand in our room key at reception. Now, I thought I had taken the key when we left our room,and I thought I had put it in my coat pocket, but when I checked, alas, it was not there. I looked in my bag, I looked on the car seat.

We were perplexed. Perhaps we had accidentally left it inside the room? If  so, that was a complete disaster, it was one of those irritating self lock doors which are just like Kryptonite to the ditsy. I went round the side of the room and peered in through the window to see if I could spot it. I couldn't. I was getting a bit het up now. It was 10:55am. Only 5 minutes left until our check out time ran out. I didn't know what happened after check out time elapsed, but I was guessing it wasn't good. Especially without the key. Perhaps they would hold our luggage as hostage or take back our complimentary breakfast. It didn't bear thinking about.

Stressed, I started pulling bags apart, re-checked my coat pocket, re-traced my steps in case it had fallen out my coat pocket. Nothing. Then Tom said something very condescending.

"You said it was in your pocket."
"Yes, but it's not there, I checked."
"Can I check please?"

I mean really, what did he think of me? I knew I had a bad reputation, but I was perfectly capable of determining whether a key was in my pocket or not. As he started rifling through my pockets I decided it was best to let him know how foolish this venture was;

"Look, I think I can check my own pock-"

At that exact moment, Tom brandished the key from my jeans pocket and held it in front of me, a look of amusement and incredulity on his face. I really, really hate it when your boyfriend is right and you are wrong. Of course this triggered a lot of 'my poor, ditsy blonde girlfriend' comments for the journey back. And I certainly won't expect to be trusted to check my own pockets next time. And yes, sadly I can say with certainty, there will be a next time. Still. At least in a time of feminism and female independence, it makes them feel needed, eh?