Key Fob

I’ve used the new car so rarely that I’ve only been out after dark twice.

I sometimes imagine going to a mall, or the opera, or a party, or any of the nighttime activities my friends are doing. I picture setting off for my car across a dark parking lot and gripping my keyring with the keys spiking through my fingers, in the futile ersatz-weapon fashion, and I realize I can’t do that anymore, because the new car has a key fob, not a key. The key fob is all bulky and round. Not good for eye-gouging at all.

I suppose I could gather up four house keys, but I only have two now, not enough for my four finger-slots. I suppose I could put two legitimate weapons on my key ring. Like, say, a cute little shiv. And then a wee pointy taser, maybe? Or a ring-sized strap, because the first thing that happens is you drop your keys.

I do have that panic button on the key fob, though.

These are the thoughts that cross my mind when I have been stuck at home too long. Overly dramatic anxiety pageants.