My dad woke me up at the crack of 8:00 this morning to ask me where my keys were. Then my day got worse.

He needed them in order to move our big bulky work van with the expired tags. I told him the keys were in my pants pocket and my pants were on the floor of my bathroom. He moved the van, then came back into my room and asked me, "Can I put your keys on this table? Is that okay?"

Because apparently, when you've got dementia...
THIS...
looks like a smart place to randomly drop a set of keys.

Update: And now I have to edit this, because the idiot algorithm thought it was fetish content.