Mom frequently called and said, “Come over here and straighten out your father.” Most of the time the only thing needing straightened was the list of concerns he had accumulated over one day’s time.
Upon arrival I could count on finding dad pacing in his workshop and mom trying earnestly to finish watching her favorite craft show. The conversation was always the same. Mom was tired of looking for his “lost” belongings, reminding him constantly of the day or date and answering the same question for the 10th time. Dad, on the other hand, was frustrated because he couldn’t understand why she was so irritated with him. All he did was ask her if she had seen his wallet.
When I accidentally misplaced my debit card, and my guy wanted to know how he could straighten me out, I began to understand the need to call in a third party, although none of our kids are willing to take on this task, at the moment anyway. He wanted to know how I could lose a debit card.
At first I didn’t have an answer, because honestly, it seemed like a ridiculous question. Apparently he has never misplaced his. How many people lose their debit card on purpose? After some serious mowing-thinking time, I came up with what I consider to be a good legitimate reason.
After doing yard work, I came in for a cold glass of tea and, while wiping the sweat from my brow at the end of September, I turned on the radio and it was playing Christmas music. If that doesn’t confuse people, what will? I thought we were supposed to wait until after Thanksgiving, at the least after Halloween. Granted, it was a commercial about buying jewelry for your loved one at Christmas, but it threw me for a loop and for a minute, I forgot what month it was.
Just as I was reaching for a chocolate chip cookie (isn’t chocolate supposed to be brain food) to perhaps reboot my memory, I remembered I forgot my debit card at the fast food joint. He was happy I had recovered the plastic piece of property, which apparently will produce mass hysteria if misplaced.
Recently I’ve began researching “what to do about a foggy brain.” Even though I didn’t come up with a concrete answer on how to fix it, the number of results made me feel better, as it appears a lot of folks are having this same problem.
I’m blaming it on menopause, right now anyway, because the foggy brain seems to happen about the same time I break out into a sweat. It could be that neither one of them have anything to do with the other, but it’s an easier pill to swallow than thinking I’m losing my mind.
I used to make fun of my sister for giving a blank stare when someone asked her a simple question. I get it now. It’s easier to look like a mummy than an idiot.
Sandy Turner lives in Independence, Missouri. Email her at email@example.com