As I was donning my requisite Bobbi Brown eyeliner the other morning, I fondly recalled the day my youngest sister introduced me to it — Oct. 30, 2010. Moments later, I struggled to remember if my mother-in-law’s birthday was that day or the next. What gives? Why is it I know the title of Jodie Foster’s 1977 childhood caper film is “Candleshoe” and can easily sing Prince’s “Raspberry Beret” without missing a single word, but cannot accurately state the time of birth of any of my four children?
Is it age? Am I losing short-term recognizance in favor of long-term minutiae? I literally spent a solid 30 seconds in my car yesterday morning looking for a mask before realizing it was on my stupid face! And yet I had no problem reciting, in chronological order, a list of dead presidents to my history classes.
I don’t get it. I find myself regaling friends with a hilarious tale of Meijer misadventure only to learn later that I’d previously shared the story. Twice. Current students’ names are a crapshoot, though I could probably tell you all about a long-since graduated older sibling. I’m constantly “losing” my lanyard and reading glasses but know exactly where the tiny package of 3-year-old Orchid food is.
Good, lord. Has it really come to this? Not quite 50 and I’m legitimately earning frequent “Jeeze, Mom” eye rolls? What’s a gal to do? I thought I was keeping my mind sharp with sudoku and voracious reading, but apparently to no avail.
I mean, just last week I wasted half a minute searching for a mask that I was already wearing!
Peace out.
