"Well, there goes your Christmas present," I told Chuck.

He had just put on one of his favorite black sweatshirts. And there in the pocket were his keys. Those keys had been missing for over a week. During this week Chuck had lamented non-stop the onset of senility. Or maybe Alzheimer's, I don't remember. In addition to this, he bemoaned non-stop that he was losing his faculties. Or, had already lost them. Like his keys.

Because during this one week, it wasn't only his keys that were lost. He'd also lost his paycheck and his attaché case. Fortunately, he found his paycheck and I found his attaché case. So only his keys stayed lost.

That's how I got my idea. Christmas was approaching and I never know what to get anyone for Christmas. But this solved the problem of what to get Chuck. Keys! I would replace his keys.

This is not as simple as it seems. Some of the keys can't be replaced. At least not without a special card. And not without going to some designated key location somewhere or other across town. I particularly hate going across town. But there I was. Ready to do it all. Ready to try to find the special card. And ready to journey across town. All for Chuck's Christmas present. The keys.

It got so I was actually looking forward to replacing these keys. It would be the first good Christmas present I'd given him in years. I usually get him something he doesn't like or can't use. This year it would be different. This year I would surprise him. I'd give him a present he'd be happy to have. Something he'd use every day. Any time he opened the door or the mailbox, he'd appreciate my Christmas present all over again.

But then he had to go and find his keys in some sweatshirt pocket. And there went my chance to give him a really great Christmas present. But he seemed so relieved at finding them that I hardly even begrudged my missed opportunity.

Which was a good thing. Because before I knew it, I had another opportunity. Because a few days later, he lost his keys all over again. This time, however, I didn't quite believe it. I mean, I'm not that gullible. Maybe I can be fooled once. But after that I start to catch on. I wasn't about to get excited so soon about having another chance to get him my Christmas present. This time I'd be smarter. I would wait a little to see if the keys turned up. And I'd insist that he check his sweatshirt pocket first, too.

He did. But the keys weren't there. He checked all his other pockets, too. His pants pockets. His coat pockets. His attaché pockets. To no avail. So he went back to bemoaning the fact that he was losing his faculties. And he also accused himself of making all sorts of other mistakes that were even worse.

However, I still remembered the first time he lost his keys. So I still didn't quite trust him. I regard it as somewhat dishonest to go around claiming to lose keys when you don't. And I preferred not to waste my time under false pretenses if the keys weren't lost. There's nothing I'd hate more than trying to find the special key card and running across town to some special key location if I didn't have to.

I was still debating whether to go to the trouble of getting Chuck's Christmas present yet, when something odd happened. Chuck's garage key was among the missing keys, so we used mine. And then my key disappeared. This made me very suspicious. I mean, it was way too coincidental. First Chuck's keys are lost. Twice. Then mine. It was starting to seem like an epidemic. Or even worse, a conspiracy.

My conclusion was inescapable. Chuck must have lost this key, too. When I told him this, he insisted that he'd done nothing of the kind. On the contrary, he declared that I had lost my own key! Something that is really quite improbable. I mean, I do misplace a lot of things. But never my keys. And simply taking Chuck's record into consideration, I felt quite justified in dismissing such an unlikely event..

Chuck was wondering where my garage key could be. I searched my pockets, even though I knew they wouldn't be there. Sure enough, they weren't. I wouldn't dream of placing keys in something like a pocket, where they can easily be forgotten. My keys go directly into one specific compartment of my pocket-book. Which I'd already checked out.

Chuck looked into the compartment of my pocket-book anyway. "Here's your garage key!" he announced triumphantly. He was holding up a key-chain with a garage key on it.

"That's impossible," I replied. "My garage key isn't on a key-chain,". So that's how we found Chuck's keys. They'd been in my pocket book all along.

I couldn't understand how a thing like that could possibly have happened. But I was certainly glad I hadn't gone to all the trouble of searching for the special key card and running across town.

Chuck asserts that I absentmindedly dropped his keys into my pocketbook. I must admit this could have happened. Since my pocketbook is where I automatically put keys. That way I never lose them.

I would hate to keep losing things the way Chuck does.

December, 1999
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