The Time I Almost Went to Jail for Murder.

That time was yesterday afternoon, after the Color Run 5K here in Minneapolis. I left out this story in my previous post, because it kind of warrants its own; since I DID almost murder Brad and end up on an episode of 20/20 or maybe its more dramatic, cable step-sister Snapped.

We decided to take our 1989 Nissan Pathfinder (aka the Black Pearl, aka The Pearl) to the race at the Minnesota State Fairgrounds yesterday, since it’s old as dirt and is covered in dirt, as well. We knew we’d all be messy afterward and it was just the best logistical way for Brad, Molly, Molly’s sister, her boyfriend and me to all get to the race.

We left all our valuables in the car: phones, wallets, etc. since everything in the color race gets pretty wrecked. So that seemed like safest bet. We locked everything in the car and Brad put the key into a tiny, baby pocket they sew into runner’s shorts. It’s also important to note that we had to park in like Africa. Ok, not ACTUALLY Africa. But it was 90 degrees and (no joke) about 5K away from the actual 5K. That’s a LOT of K’s people.

Fast forward to after the race. It was a total blast and we were all colorful smiles. But we’re also all SUPER HOT (again, it was 90 degrees) and messy and covered in powder and crud and sweat. It was fun. But at this point, we were ready to go home and have a nice shower and nice bloody mary. So we start walking back to the car and Brad all of a sudden stops and turns to us,

“The key isn’t in my shorts pocket. It must have fallen out.”

“You’re kidding.” I said.

He was not kidding. He had lost the key somewhere in the last 10K’s of color and chaos. And I was already downward spiraling into panic. Probably because, with the exception of like, the OCEAN, this was the worst place in the world you could lose a key. The Minnesota State Fairgrounds is HUGE. Disproportionately huge. Just think of all the livestock and games and rides and live concerts and activities and FOOD and sponsorship booths they cram into the Minnesota State Fair every year. THAT’S how big this place is. Now imagine that it’s covered in color and everything is a total mess…

Oh, and did I mention that 19,000 people ran in this race? I feel like that’s an important detail because it conveys HOW chaotic everything was. There were a million people who all looked like they’d been beaten up by an army of Rainbow Bright minions. I feel like Lady Gaga would have really approved of this race. But anyway.

So we’re basically drowning in a gigantic rainbow of people and now we have to find this one key. Oh, and it’s the ONLY key to The Pearl. Oh, and all our wallets and phones are locked in the car. Oh, and it’s 90 degrees. Oh and there are a million people around us.

I have to say, that Molly, her sister and her sister’s boyfriend all handled themselves in the highest regard. They were all calm, cool (metaphorically speaking) and collected. Asking helpful questions like, “When was the last time you remember seeing the key” to try and roll out certain parts of the race. All I was doing was FUMING angry and eye rolling and twitching. Not very helpful…but wow. Those Houllihan’s. They are a classy bunch. Seriously.

So all we can do, really, is start retracing our steps.

About 15 minutes into our walk back to the starting line, Brad takes a second and re-checks his runner’s shorts. He looks up at us and pulls the key out.

“They fell into the built-in underwear.”

My first thought: Gross! My second thought: COMPLETE RAGE followed by a wave of relief. But the rage came first. How dare he get us all so bent out of shape. HOW DARE HE BE SO IRRESPONSIBLE. Of course NONE of these are rational thoughts. It’s not REALLY his fault that the keys fell out of his pocket. I just honestly have no idea what we would have done if he hadn’t found them that easily. Spent all day hunting for them? Broken into the Pearl to get our phones/wallets and cab it home? Passed out from heat stroke and sued Brad? I don’t know. I’m REALLY glad he found them and we could all go home and get water and showers and alcoholic beverages and pedicures and naps. If I had been trapped there all day, BELIEVE ME, I would have certainly manslaughtered my husband.

But, I didn’t murder him. I didn’t even get to punch him (he ran away too quickly). And that’s what counts, right? And I most certainly plan on bringing this up at our 25th wedding anniversary because I will NEVER forget this happened. You hear me, Brad? Never.

[The above photo is a dramatic reenactment of said account]