Jami's Key Problem

As an absent-minded kinda girl, I tend to put stuff down somewhere and then forget where it is. This happens on a regular enough basis that instead of freaking out and searching, I just generally try to recreate my path backwards until the last time I remember having whatever is missing. But, because of the frequency, I am also paranoid about losing my keys and my driver's license, both of which I have not ever permanently misplaced. The longest time my keys were missing was the time my adorable but mischievous son hid them behind a bookcase, and then later triumphantly recovered them and tossed them at me. I worry so much about losing them that at least once a week, I'll be driving somewhere and have a moment where I think "Oh no, I think I left my keys . . ." (fill in the blank - "in the trunk lock", "on the counter of that store", "in the shopping cart", etc.) Have you realized yet what always takes me a minute? If I am DRIVING THE CAR, then I have my keys. Car won't start without them, it's pretty picky about that. But I still have that moment. Today, walking to the car in the parking lot of Wal-Mart, I dig through my purse to get out the keys, and they're not there! I force myself to take a breath, set the packages down at the car and methodically go through my bag. Sure enough, they aren't inside. I race back toward the store, mentally reviewing where I might have set them down - the basket? I used the ladies room - did I hang them on the hook or set them on the sink? I bought that big thing of laundry soap, did I set them down to pick it up? As I'm running and panicking, I am gradually aware of discomfort. I think whatever's in my pocket is really stabbing me. Oh. I stop, in the entrance and slip my hand in my pocket. Whew. It's weird, isn't it, that mix of relief and "boy am I an idiot?" I'm so used to that feeling, it's like slipping into my favorite sneakers. I head back to the car, wondering what the people who saw my exit, mad dash return and subsequent re-exit must think.