I’m liable to show my bad side here. I know that I’m supposed to be happy with what I have. A man my age should know better than to let the little “green monster” out of the bag. So, read on if you must, but please…please don’t think less of me.

I have a problem being content. I’m missing one thing in my life. Just one, I’m sure of it.

Gosh, this is hard to confess, but here goes. I need a key fob that will crank my truck from inside the house on a cold morning. If I had that one thing, I’d have everything I need.

I know. This is embarrassing. I should be more of a grown-up. I should be way past the age of feeling like I need certain things to make my life complete. If I haven’t had it for the past 69 years, why in the world do I think now that there is anything missing from my life.

I have a lot of stuff. I’ve got gadgets galore. I’ve got a coffee cup warmer sitting on the lamp table next to me right now. Not everybody has a cup warmer. I’m probably one-up on most of you out there in the cup warmer category of life.

It’s 53° on my porch. My coffee is sitting there waiting on me, and I don’t have to be in a rush to finish drinking it before it gets cold. Because it’s not gonna get cold. It’s sitting on a Mr. Coffee cup warmer.

You would think that a guy who has a cup warmer by his side would be content with life. But I’m telling you, right now, I’m thinking that a cup warmer pales in comparison to a key fob with a remote start button.

I remember exactly where I was when I first became aware of this remarkable feature. I was on the third floor of a Holiday Inn on a winter’s morning. Standing at the hotel window, I could see that the frost below me covered the world outside like icing on a cake.

I told my business partner, “We’re gonna have to wait a while to defrost the windshield before we head over to the conference.”

He shrugged, reached into his pocket and pulled out his key fob.

“Watch this,” he said.

He silently squeezed on the fob. I watched out the window as a foggy steam began to boil out from the exhaust at the back of his truck.

I think I said something like “Wow” under my breath and went on with the rest of my life. I was impressed but I wasn’t envious.

But, you see, this is how discontentment works. It plants a seed. It drills deep inside the brain somewhere and hangs an idea on a hook inside a closet and shuts the door to wait on just the right moment. It could be years later. Decades even. That closet door opens, and a monster emerges.

I have other remotes in my life, but none of them have a remote start function for my truck.

My light clickers, for example, are the kind of gadgets that offer a nice “cool” factor to my otherwise mundane life. I saw them at Marion’s house and decided to get some of my own.

If you don’t know what these are, they are little plastic boxes that plug into your wall socket. You plug your lamp cord into the little box, and then there’s a remote sensor and “clicker” that you can use to turn on your lamp from across the room.

I have three on my back porch. Five in the family room. I even have one in my shop.

I walked out onto the porch in the dark this morning. Out of the dim light coming from the kitchen I could see the clicker lying on the back of the couch. I picked it up and standing in one spot I turned on three lamps. No fumbling around in the dark for those little buttons hidden under the lamp shades.

Most clickers have a short range of reach from the remote to the sensor. 30 to 50 feet, maybe. I needed something a little stronger for the outside light on my shop. I wanted to be able to turn that light on when I close up at night and then be able to turn it off once I get inside the house.

A clicker with an antenna and a 1500 foot range was the solution. When I got it installed, I had to know how good it was. Would it click on/off from as far away as advertised? I walked down to the creek in the woods. Click. I drove up the hill and stopped out by the neighbor’s driveway. Click. I sat on the couch. Click.

It worked every single time.

I’m not trying to make you jealous. I’m just saying, if you can’t turn on your lights from across the room or across the yard, you might be a little behind the times. You might as well have oil lamps.

So, I’ve got that going for me…but no fancy key fob. And I’m feeling it. I’ve let it go for years now, ever since that day at the hotel. But the monster is coming out of the closet and I’m not sure I can put it back.

I’m sorry. This is not my normal frame of mind.

It all started a few weeks ago. I was at Marion’s house getting ready to head back to Pine Mountain. It was early morning. Dark outside. Cool and damp.

I told her, “I’m going out to crank my truck so it can warm up before I leave.”

There’s nothing going on inside my head. Over the years, I’ve done this a thousand times. There’s no competition here. Go out and start the truck with my key. That’s it.

The porch steps are a little wet. There’s a chill in the air. Leaves are falling as the wind dances through the trees overhead.

Marion is about to leave, as well. She’s headed off for one of her two part-time jobs she still keeps. And as I’m walking to my truck, I’m thinking, after starting my truck, that I should go back inside, get her key, and start her truck for her.

This is what’s going through my head.

I walked past her truck to get to mine. Right as I opened the driver’s door to reach inside for the ignition, her truck starts up. Vroom. The lights are on. The heat is running.

I leaned outside my door and looked back toward the house. I could see her through the kitchen window. She’s waving. She’s smiling. She’s got a little shimmy thing going on. And worst of all, she’s holding up her key fob between her thumb and index finger so I can see it.

I’m not saying she was taunting me. I’m not saying she’s responsible for letting the monster out of the closet.

But she did it again this morning. Just to show off.

I’ve gotta have me one of those key fobs.