Check

“Is the front door locked?” I asked myself last night on behalf of my girlfriend. “Nermf,” she said as I rolled over her.
“What a responsible lock-securing man I am,” I thought assured. “I’ve only lived eight days with this douche?” she thought again.
“Uhhh,” I said as I heroically rose to my feet. “Nermf,” she said as I knocked over her glass of water.

“Oooo,” I said. “Sigh,” she said.

“Never hurts to check,” I said now striding to the door.
“Wait,” I thought. “What the fuck. That is either the most meaningless or inaccurate thing I’ve ever said. As if I invented the concept of the double-check and am mentioning it in hopes that someone close to me will pass on this near-spiritual heirloom.”

“Remember,” one of my decedents will say someday. “Never hurts to check. “Yes,” his grandchildren will agree.
“Yes,” he will add. “Everyone knows that Franks are lock-securing men. And their women are forever grateful to them for that.”