I know I've written of this before, of this problem Miles has with keys—you know, the metal trinkets with the squiggly edge? Well, he has issues with them. After my near decapitation by his teeth, I stifled the urge to inquire sweetly, "do you have your keys?" upon every departure.

His car has suffered as a result. This is nothing new. However, his neurosis has garnered arrogance. The car is no longer enough of a victim. It has attacked the house.

Upon my house re-entry, I noticed almost immediately that one of our window screens was somewhat...torn and not really there. I questioned, hesitantly, "Did you guys have some rough weather the last three months?" Miles and Jason looked at each other and pondered. They shook their heads. "It's just that one of our screens seems to have suffered some great evil..."

Miles' eyes, more expressive than he'd perhaps like them to be, brightened briefly to those of a great conqueror before dulling to contrite, wary, then crow-eating. "Well, interesting story..." he began.

I was ready for this wildly exotic story, full of elephants, zebras, and proper excuses. My breath caught at the crescendo of his opening. I held it, my eyes bulging from their sockets with unconcealed interest (and lack of oxygen). He cleared his throat. "What a story this must be!" I thought to myself, all hyper, light-headed, and tingly. "I can't WAIT!"

Miles looked at me. "When I arrived home late one night..."

"Here it comes! Oh boy oh boy oh boy! A story to rival all stories!" The marquee of excitement scrolled within my mind.

He continued, "I didn't have my key. I had to break in."

The end.

I exhaled. I sighed. Disappointed, I replied, "Oh."

I bet you're all totally jealous of my ability to deliver those zingers.