Occasionally, someone will ask if my Dearly Beloved minds that I write about his… um…. missteps. HAH!
Believe me, his ego remains unaffected. In fact, he feels that he’s given me plenty of material for additional gems I’ve never written–a mistake on my part, since he considers the ones about him to be my best. Without him, it’s all squirrels.
My ego not being as intact as his, I’d have to leave the country if he took up blogging. He’d have to learn to type faster. For the past week or so, I may have blown any previous record for screw-ups.
I baked cookies and cut up fruit last week when it was my turn to provide refreshments for our library Book Club Meeting. Since I reside in the State of Panic, I was running late, so DB helped me load the car.
He helped me unload it when I came home 20 minutes later. I’d been a week early. The meeting wasn’t until this week.
When I brought in our Sunday paper and discovered it didn’t have the comics, Parade, or ads in it, I called the Circulation Department to request a complete paper. The automated voice informed me, “Today is Saturday, April 13.” Oh.
On the day of my doctor’s appointment, having not received their usual confirmation call, I phoned them. Even though I had the appointment slip in hand, I was convinced I’d done something wrong when they said they had no record of an appointment and put me on hold. I had plenty of time for mental self-flagellation while I waited. Was it only my appointment that was missing or was I a goner, too?
Eventually, someone picked up to inform me that their new computer system had lost practically everyone’s appointment and it was a madhouse there. Could I come next month?
Sure. Just remind me.
My friend Martha and I had planned for a month to attend a gardening seminar to hear a speaker we both enjoy. We had spoken and e-mailed about how much we were looking forward to it. I had my computer calendar send me two reminders. Nevertheless, Monday night I received an e-mail from Martha asking, “Are you okay? Where were you? The program was delightful.”
I shrieked. I thought the program was Tuesday.
Martha reminded me that had DB and I bought the house next door to them (for sale when we moved back to Charlotte) this wouldn’t have happened. “We could take care of each other,” she told me.
We made a date for lunch the next day–so I wouldn’t have time to forget. When DB asked what time I was meeting Martha, I couldn’t remember if we’d set a time. I said I’d call her, but I checked my e-mails first, in case she’d written. She had; she was canceling lunch.
She’d forgotten that one of the suburban herb guilds was coming to tour her garden at 10AM.
Yep, we should have bought that house.
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“All the girls feared their Father less than they did their Mother, because she sometimes remembered things and he did not. Lord Brightlingsea was swept through life on a steady amnesiac flow.”
― Edith Wharton, The Buccaneers
“Why can we remember the tiniest detail that has happened to us, and not remember how many times we have told it to the same person.” -François de la Rochefoucauld