Wednesday, 10 August 2011

OCD keys, Keys, Keys...

Let's face it - we've all got it. It just comes in many guises.

For my two year-old nephew Obsessive Compulsive Disorder means keys, keys, keys, cars, pretending to drive the car, putting the keys in the ignition turning the wheel and did I mention holding the keys?

Upon opening the door on any of his regular visitors (he's very popular don't you know) ... There's no
hewwoo, how are you type of pleasantries it's... 'pease Schammy, can I have your keys.'

Least he's polite with it.. But honestly the little fella is relentless with his obsession. And it's not just all about the keys anymore.

I'm assured it's nothing to worry about - it's just a phase he's going through - and I'm not complaining because it keeps us all chuckling.

He just loves them. So much so that he takes one to bed with him. Yes, that's right. Gone are the days of soft cuddly toys and do-do rags for comfort. Toby cuddles up to a red plastic key.

And as soon as he wakes up the
keymaster is scrambling around to find it. 'Where's my wred key.' He looks almost distraught when he can't find it. Bless him.

It's amazing how his little mind works. And like an elephant - he never forgets too. Often half way through dinner or whizzing along on his scooter he'll come out with. 'You got your keys

And I just look at him in admiration. Because if it wasn't for him - I wouldn't have a clue where my keys were. Too often I have mislaid them A.) Down the side of the sofa. B.) In the ignition of my car - where I parked it last night, or, better still, C.) Hanging proudly from my front door. Yes, I'm a nightmare.

Having Johnny around makes this
OCD of losing my keys less frequent. We have a fail safe drawer system. A little key home of their own. To be deposited in as soon as we step inside the house. It's shoes off, keys in the drawer! The thing is... Is fails to be safe!

We must have a key fairy. Or a key borrower. Too often I have mysteriously found them in sock drawers and even in dustbins and washing machines. Sadly, today was no different.

After a mad supermarket sweep-like dash around the house to find them (always a great way to set you up for the day) they were found inside my right shoe. You see, this would never have happened if Toby was around.

OCD isn't the right terminology. But I am obsessively compulsively always losing my keys. That is a disorder in itself.

Maybe it's just a mild strain, but, jokes aside.
OCDC as I have coined it can rule and ruin your life

Spare a moments thought to those poor people currently scrubbing down their kitchen work tops in a stupor. Or those on their way to work painfully avoiding the cracks in the pavement.

What's your guilty
OCD pleasure - or OCD hell? I'd love to know.

Now, 'where did I put my keys?'

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