I called home. I really couldn't help it.
"Mom," I pleaded. "Could you go check the pockets of my corduroy pants? I think my key is in one of them."
Because she loves me, Mom checked.
There it was. My key. Nestled in a pocket safe and sound. No horrible, gruesome death for me. Tonight I will go home and fashion some kind of key-bracelet or key-necklace that I will put on and never remove, just in case.