I have a good friend (Dave) who lives in St. Louis, MO, and is a follower of Smacks of Old Fart. Last week he sent me some old fart fodder on his wife (Prudy) and gave me permission to submit it to Jan's blog. So, here it is, a paraphrased version of the story, courtesy of Dave and Prudy Bertolino.
I was leaving the house early one morning while Prudy was still in bed. I looked for my car keys in their usual place but couldn't find. After turning the house upside-down, I gave up the search and went to the drawer where we keep a spare set of keys. I started to leave the house again, with the spare key in hand, when I decided to grab a bottle of water out of the refrigerator. I opened the door, and there it was...MY set of keys sitting atop a sandwich in a sandwich bag.
You see, it was Prudy's day to work at the Circle of Concern at church and she had prepared a sandwich to take for her lunch; not wanting to forget the sandwich when she left home, she thought she would put "her" keys on top of the sandwich bag in the frig.
There is probably something deeply Freudian and disturbing as to why Prudy put MY keys on the sandwich instead of her own, but I hate to go there. Let's just chalk it up to a Smacks of Old Fart event!
NOTE: Thanks, Dave. That was good. But, I don't know if that really Smacks of Old Fart, or just smacks of Prudy. You know, I would never call Prudy and old fart...but you on the other hand certainly qualify since you are much, much older than I.
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