Lost keys... again!

Earlier this week my husband was once more desperatly searching for keys. Keys for a vehicle that, again, has not been driven for a while. But this time I did NOT climb on a chair and search through bottles and bottles of Baby Tylenol, Children's Motrin and other sundry medicines. I had already cleaned the fridge off, and it was quite empty, so I already knew there were no keys of any sort there.

I did not empty out laundry baskets or sort through the items that are stacked on the shelf over the washer and dryer. I didn't even ask my husband if he had looked in any of these areas - I just stared at my rectangular bruise and bit my lips. I said not a word - I was sure he would find them again without my help and... he did.

I learned this when he walked into the kitchen covered with sweat and announced; "I just walked three miles."

In this heat?

I whirled around to stare at him and asked, "Why did you do that?" He and I have been talking about excercising, but surely there was a cooler, and less busy time of day, to take a walk. Especially a three mile walk.

He wearily wiped his forehead off, with a look of disgust.

"Because the stupid blue van broke down three miles from here, that's why."

I didn't bother to ask where he had found the keys this time. I just called AAA and asked for a tow.

Anyone know of a Patron Saint for old vehicles?