I am like many, I’m sure, that misplaces or loses things on occasion. Karen just chuckled in the background. Pay no attention to the Peanut Gallery folks. “On occasion, right.” I lost my keys once in my car at work because I was too drunk to find them. I was lucky enough to find my car. After making several calls to my co-workers from the parking garage, I was ready to give up, call a cab, and spend the next 40 minutes trying to come up with some bullshit story to try on Karen. It wasn’t going to be easy. So I open the door to get out of the car and I hear the jingle of my keys. They were in my door lock. Lesson learned? You’d think, right? The same with house keys. I think I have replaced my house/car keys at least four times, and my cell phone? Fuhgetaboutit. I’ve lost my car three times (zero if you count the times I lost it while intoxicated). My wallet? Same thing. Money, replacing credit cards, had to go through that whole rigamarow too many times. After I had lost my wallet for the third time, my wife finally delivered me an old tomato: I could not go to the Notre Dame-Michigan football game unless I left my phone at home. I swore up and down one side of Touchdown Jesus and down the other that my irresponsible days of losing things so often was ridiculous and over. I was a grown man and should be trusted this one last time, to take my cell phone with me. She finally acquiesced and I left for South Bend with my newly-replaced cell phone and my sense of all-being-right-in-the world intact because I was in control. Right. So off we go, my father, my cell phone and I, to the game. Our tickets were near the 10-yard line in the northwest corner of the stadium and high up enough to be seated right alongside the student section. My Dad ate it up and pretty soon he was guzzling beer and holding court. I was a bit concerned because my father had open heart surgery only a month earlier, and I was afraid the excitement was too much for him. Well, the game came down to the final play. It ended with a missed field goal by the nation’s best kicker (on Michigan) and when his kick missed, securing the Irish victory, of course in most-hallowed Notre Dame stadium, all hell broke loose in the student section. The next thing I know, I had been vaulted atop a sea of arms pushing me higher and higher towards the very last row of the stadium seating.
“Over the wall, over the wall, over the wall..” the shouts went up. Long story short, I lost my phone, wallet, and house keys, but Karen certainly did not need to hear about it right this second. Appears I had lost something else…… my balls.
Stay well.
Mark's Playhouse 