You know as I get older I always thought I would have had to deal with LESS keys not more of them. When I was a much thinner and harrier Silverback, the more nesting plastic keys I had meant more access to secret spaces and restricted places like the zookeeper’s stash of ‘the good’ bananas and ‘bark’free’ toilet paper! Every suitcase, mailbox, crossword puzzle, city and even PIANOS have KEYS to show off, so I grew up thinking they were cool and ever-empowering.
As time has progressed I have sickened of explaining to hobos that it is the metal KEYS, not coins, jangling in my pocket and ‘NO I have never been happy to see them’. Like children, I started coding my keys with those little colored rubber bonnets that you strap on their heads to quiet them and tell them apart. With the addition of chunky remote car locks, my ‘key wad’ has seemed to grow exponentially larger n’ looser, just at the age when my pants are becoming uncomfortably tighter and smaller.
Now some sadistic marketing whiz has come up with even more fob foibles to foil me. Yes every supermarket, big box store, gas station, and even the libraries are pushing plastic bar-coded club-cards to clutter-up and post claim to my bloated pockets and ever-expanding key chain. Will this mistreatment to cotton and polyester never end – after all I am already blowing-out a bigger GAP in the stretch panel of my manly maternity jeans, even WITHOUT the keys.
I’m sick of thumbing and fumbling through decks of club cards and keys that are all nearly the same size and all look alike. Whatever happened to the dream of having a key-free society where I could lop off a lock of DNA, stare down a retina eye scan, or simply raise up a single finger in disdain to access security accounts and private places? I’m clearly getting too old for lots of locks and their weighty chains of protection. I think I need to retire to a warm, care-free place where there is nothing worth locking up and the pants are ALWAYS optional – the FLORIDA KEYS!