Just Call me Mrs. Lucky by Jan From Woodgate

This week’s subject is… wait a minute… I forgot

I forgot. Two simple words that have the power to provide forgiveness for virtually anything. Everyone forgets something at some point, whether it’s a simple itty bitty oops (came home without the milk,) or a biggie (thought it was Christmas so I didn’t show up for work.)

Can’t be helped and truly, we should not beat ourselves up when stuff slips our mind.

Like so many other folks I constantly struggle with names. A younger, braver me would’ve taken a chance and called out the first name that came to mind, and I was often correct. Now…not so much.

In fact, it’s practically a guarantee that I will fail miserably, so I find it’s just so much easier to admit defeat. “Um, so sorry, but I just cannot remember what you call yourself—what the heck is your name anyway?”

Apparently with age comes lack of shame. Just yesterday there were seven of us gathered around a picnic table at Lucky Dogs, and the conversation was absolutely hysterical as we tried to recall names and details of people we hadn’t seen in a while.

“How ‘bout so-n-so? You know, the lady who doused herself in perfume that made us gag. And her husband what’s his name, retired military…?”

The response from the 81 year old grampa among the group who sometimes struggles with his own name? “DEAD!!”

Clearly some facts are easier to recall than others. And again, no shame in any of this. There are just so many of us drifting along n the same boat of forgetfulness that one can’t help but find the humor.

Especially when you totally know that as time marches on it will only get worse. So let’s just roll with it and rely on each other to fill in the blanks whenever possible.

We all mutually decided that it does truly “take a village,” but the bar has been lowered considerably. It now takes a village just to complete a memory or short story and I’m okay with that. In fact, it makes me giggle most of the time, depending on exactly what as forgotten.

I did not find humor, however, when Lucky came home without my box ‘o wine. Sometimes forgetfulness can be harmful to one’s health, as my hubby can attest to. And yeah, there are even occasions when I forget what I forgot, so it doesn’t really count.

Meanwhile, in the happy little Land of the Lost, we will plod along with our bits of brain matter flapping in the breeze of life.

There was more I wanted to add, but, well, I forgot.

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