On Saturday, Annie, myself, my college roommate, and his girlfriend all went to a wine tasting event in Alameda (a little island next to Oakland). If Annie doesn't write about this event in her blog, I'll try and talk about it later this week (Holla to my new friends from the back room... you know who you are!). Annie 'went to bed a little early' after the event, which meant she got up an hour or two before me on Sunday morning.
She had plans to travel with one of her friends to the Alameda Flea Market. I had no interest, since flea markets are dirty. I know, I've heard several times that this one is fancy. All I can think of is Gibraltar Trade Center, though (only Michigan natives might know what I'm talking about). Maybe one day I'll scrounge up a picture of young ~RoB in a t-shirt with his name airbrushed across the front. Nothing like some good ol' redneck flea market merch!
Anyway, I woke up and made plans to play tennis. When I got down to my car, I realized Annie was parked behind me. Problem: Annie took her keys to get back in the apartment later. So I called her, and her phone was off. I had to cancel tennis (Annie's spare car key is currently at her grandfather's). Finally, I got a hold of her and she said that she had thoughtfully removed her car keys from her oversized keychain and left them on the table. They should have been on the key hooks, avoiding the whole situation, but I'm not going to complain when she obviously thought this through before leaving.
So, I called and rescheduled tennis. I drove Annie's car to take Angel to a dog park near the courts, met my friend, and played tennis. We played for 2 hours or so. When we were finally worn out, and I was pulling all of my stuff out of my tennis bag, I saw that my phone had 24 missed calls, 5 voicemails, and a plethora of text messages. Here's how those texts went:
It turns out that when I drove away in her car, I did to her what I had accused her of doing to me merely minutes before. I had her car, and my apartment keys have my car key on them. (Our apartment has collectively lost my spare car key.) Her soccer match started at 1pm. She was supposed to be the 3rd girl, otherwise her team would have to forfeit. She wasn't very happy to see me, even though I raced home to pick her up and drive her to her match.
When I told this story to our roommate, I said that it was 'ironic that I did to Annie what I accused her of doing to me'. Is that ironic, though? At least cosmic irony? Alanis Morissette seriously screwed up my definition of the word ironic, after it was once explained to me that not a single incident in her song (titled the same) is technically ironic.
Isn't the fact that a whole songs was written about a word, yet the word was inappropriately used... well isn't that ironic?