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Before my infernal bird-chirping, ocean wave-crashing alarm rang, my wife jumped out of bed to make sure the kid’s bathroom door was locked tight against the possible incursion by my youngest daughter. The 6-year-old was scheduled for foot surgery and was not allowed to have anything to drink or eat prior to the operation. My wife was convinced she would forget—drink a glass of water and then the whole thing would have to be rescheduled.
With a thud, I heard the door close and lock. Then our bedroom door opened, the overhead light flashed on and my wife asked in her annoyed voice, “Where is the key to the bathroom? It was right here on the dresser.”
I knew better than to question why she would close and lock the door before she was sure she knew where the key was and was relieved when, before I could work up an answer, she found the key. The rest of the morning went along much the same way—we took a wrong turn on the way to the hospital, I tried to get to the third floor of the parking garage by driving down the inbound ramp instead of up, and so on.