The key to my back door is my rake-nemesis

I know, I can hardly believe that the title to this post will make sense but sense it will now make.

Remember how Sideshow Bob keeps stepping on rakes? And how rakes became his other nemesis? I know, good times. 

Anyway the rake-equiv in my life is the key to our back security screen door. At some point the loop of the key's back snapped off and now there are two ragged-ended stumps sprouting from the stub of the key back that remains, the key looking, when key point down, like a twin-horned metal devil. 

If you exit the door and don't fully open it then the horns can prick your flesh as you go past. Or if you let the screen door close behind you and you're not fully clear then you can get stabbed in the back as well.

Mid-week I was on the way out the door when I scraped right into the horn points, the ragged metal slicing nastily into my skin, gouging twin puffy rimmed slices into my hairy spotted arm. The blaze of agony that sprouted forth was most excellent, made the more memorable for it being as cold as a witch's tit upon the air as the realisation I'd opened up my arm arrived up the brain stem. 

The thing is that there's a proper fully intact key that's the spare and it's in it's spare key hiding place. I should really just get off my arse instead of blogging this and go swap them out.

Maybe, perhaps. Maybe, perhaps one day I will. 

Maybe, perhaps. 

Have a good weekend!

UPDATE: Perhaps it is because of Nudge I self-nudged myself as by the mere dint of positing the possibility of my action actually statistically improved the likelihood of taking my action. Whatever the reason or motivation today I actually went and swapped the keys. The devil-horned arm-ripper is now stowed with the hidden spare set, to be used in emergencies and hopefully it will be months before we tangle again. Lurking for me as it does in the place of concealment, biding its time, waiting ... waiting ... waiting to arm rip again. Nasty little fucker.