The last time I accessed the safe deposit box, I apparently put the safe deposit box key in a safe place.

I use the word “apparently” because, as you can probably guess, I can’t actually find that safe place.

You know the place, the “it’s-so-safe-even-I-can’t-find-it” place.

I’m hoping that isn’t of the “in-my-pants-pocket-forgot-to-empty-before-washing” variety.  Or the “fell-out-into-the-car-seat” kind of place.

In all likelihood the safe place I’m looking for is the “buried-under-a-pile-of-papers” sort.

The reason I need to get into the safe deposit box is not a critical one, but it is something I said I would do this week.  It greatly annoys me that I cannot find it.  Because, of course, this sort of situation leads to the little voices starting up, the ones that tell me I’m incompetent and that the thought that I’m allowed to be in charge of keeping track of anything, let alone a tiny key, is inconceivable.

I know I’m not incompetent, but at times like this it sure feels like it.

So, wish me luck.  I have about an hour left before I need to head downtown.  I’ll either find it by then or make a really big mess not finding it.

Suzanne

edited after about 45 minutes:  FOUND IT.  Phew.  It was in a storage thingy in the car.  No idea why I’d stuck it in there.  You can be sure that I’ll be putting it in a REALLY safe place when I get home tonight.

That REALLY safe place would be the hands of my husband.  That way, when I need the key again, I can ask HIM where it is, and because Mark is the way he is, he’ll know exactly where he put it.  And if he doesn’t, it’ll be his fault it is missing, not mine.