Imaginary Keith needs to do something about that memory of his.  At 8:40 this morning, he turns to me and says, “I just remembered that I’m supposed to be at work today.  9:00.  We better get hopping.”

He runs off to do whatever it is he does, leaving me to do whatever it is I do.  I pack him a lunch, a briefcase, a laptop, a regular backpack, a suitcase, and a cooler full of beer.  Imaginary Keith says he’s a landscaper, but I have my doubts.  There’s really no telling what it is he’s up to.  And with a little of everything in the truck, he’ll be ready for anything.

He’s ready for work in less then a minute.  Hats are the working man’s miracle.

“This cooler feels a bit light,” Imaginary Keith says.  He has everything tucked under one arm, leaving him one free hand, which somehow balances two full coffee cups. 

“We only had one beer.”

“It’s a short day.  What’s in the backpack?”

“Laptop.”

“No, the other one.”

“Clean socks.  You never know.”

“Well, you always know.  Unfortunately, it always seems to be at the last second.”

I’m not sure what this has to do with clean socks.  Or work.  Or life.  But with the house suddenly so quiet, I realize, at the last second, that it’s nap time.