Keyed

Keyed

            The couch cushions flew through the living room hitting the far wall with an unsatisfying thud.

            “I know I put them right here when I came in the door!” Bill shrieked like a pissed off big-foot. “Where are my damn keys?”

            On his hands and knees he peered into the void beneath the sofa; hoping beyond hope that they were there. But the gap beneath the love seat left him wanting. He stood still for a moment and then ran to the bathroom. Frantically he scoured the area around the lavatory sink; no sign of them there. Then down on all fours, in his own piss stains, he felt around the back of the toilet. No dice. The bookshelf, kitchen sink, and dining room table all came up dry as well.

            Bill a somber looking statue, hand on head and confused, just stood there.  As he got ready to check the recliner for the thirteenth time his wife came into the room.

            “What’s all the racket in here?”

            “I lost my frick’n car keys AND IT”S DRIVING ME INSANE!”

            Cheryl walked over to the refrigerator, reached on top, and pulled down a set of keys with a large rubber football on the end.

            “They’re right here where they’re supposed to be.”

            Bill was in utter amazement, silent for a good solid minute, and then the storm arrived.

            “Since, when the hell, did my car keys, ever, ever, go on top of the refrigerator?”

            “They’ve always gone there.”

            “No, they go on the coffee table by the front door. I put them there myself. Why do you always have to move my stuff? Can’t you ever leave things alone?”

            “Here are your stupid keys.” Cheryl threw the keys to him and started to walk away.

            “Oh, no you don’t woman! Now you listen to me! From this moment forward, if I put something somewhere, that’s where it goes! If I put a book on the table, that’s where it goes! If I put the laundry basket next to the toilet, that’s where it goes! If I put a bass on my dick, you better leave that shit alone, because bitch, that’s where it goes! And listen up sister; my car keys go by the front door! And when I go to find them, they better be on that coffee table from now on!”

            Cheryl’s hands were on her hips, her foot tapped, and she was biting her lip; your basic pissed off beyond the point of no return wife.

            “Ok, woman, now I’m going to ask you a question, and I want you to tell me the answer. Where do my car keys go?”

            The viper was ready to strike. Through corner of her mouth she hissed, “They go on top of the refrigerator!”     

            Bill’s chest deflated, his balls shrank, and he grew a vagina. He placed his keys on top of the refrigerator and walked past his wife. “Glad we could have this little talk.”