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if he could take me to the airport so I didn have to auction off his liver to pay for overnight parking. (note: I saving my liver for a special occasion, like the opportunity to sleep with Brad Pitt, if anyone can help me that would be tops) He agreed and we took his car.That was the last time I used my car all weekend.Monday morning, Gerard is now in Melbourne for work and I get up at 4am and cannot find my car keys ANYWHERE. I turn the house upside down in a panic. I give up as I be late for work. I locate Gerard car keys and take his car instead. All the while cursing him deluxe because his car smells like a fart mixed with vomit and I have to drive all the way to work with the windows down IN THE RAIN. I assume he must have borrowed my car on the weekend because my car is clean and fart smell free and any chance he gets he behind the wheel of the Mazda, so therefore he has put the keys somewhere, and most likely it is somewhere obvious to him, like in the pocket of his jeans in the washing machine, but not obvious to me, which is in the key basket where all our keys live.I get home from work and start a serious search, I can handle driving in his car a minute longer, the stench has seeped into my pores and I starting to smell like a hotel room the day after a bunch of male teenage schoolies have checked in.I look everywhere. I empty my handbag, drawers, baskets. I look under things, over things and in things. And yes I even check in the washing machine, just in case. Angrily I finally assume Gerard has accidentally taken them away with him and I just have to wait until he returns.He