Yesterday when I ran, I put my keys in my windbreaker, without thinking. A few minutes into the run, I checked to be sure they were still there, as I tend to do several times throughout my run. (What do I think, I would drop my 10 keys without hearing them hit the ground?!) Sure enough, they were there. But then it hit me: they were in the zippered pocket that I had trouble unzipping last week.
I tried not to panic and worked at it a bit while running, then gave up to focus on my run. At the end of my shortened journey, which was punctuated by a rare headache and burning ears thanks to the dropping temps, I went into the church to try to get that blasted zipper open. After a few minutes, I gave up, and asked one of the church ladies to cut my pocket open.
And here I thought I would drop a glove, rip my pants, or break my phone long before I witnessed the death of a zipper.
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