Forgetful

I’m always forgetting things, let’s just get that out of the way. One time, in third grade, I was walking home and stopped suddenly because I couldn’t find my glasses and had no idea where I’d left them. After a few minutes of frantically running in circles I realized that they were on my head. And it’s not just objects I forget, it’s memories too. I just flat out cannot remember some conversations. One time I managed to forget to buy a plane ticket (or remember incorrectly that I had bought a ticket) and when I purchase a new ticket I forgot that the time changed and missed the flight.

Trying to have a conversation with me about anything that happened in the past is clearly an adventure. And being married to someone like me has got to be even harder, even though I still say that I managed 23 years without Wes and survived. Wes is constantly on me to remember things. And when I don’t remember them, which is often (like a couple of weeks ago when we joined our friends to play tennis and I realized I’d forgotten my shoes only after we’d arrived at the courts), he won’t let me forget it (which I hate, but, I mean, come on, I forget everything so I don’t blame him too much). Sometimes it’s hard to be the fun but scatterbrained part of our relationship.

When we were in New York (and by last week I mean two weeks ago, obviously), Wes was in charge of all our daily belongings because a) I had the camera, b) I didn’t want to haul a backpack all over New York, and c) I would probably have left it in a restaurant. A couple of times throughout the day Wes would ask me where my wallet was and I would momentarily freeze with the fear that I’d left it somewhere even though I hadn’t taken it out.  This is how I live my life: if something’s not right in my hands I’m scared I’ve lost it. Usually it’s sitting on my nightstand where I left it but I still freak out.

On my birthday we went into the city to look around Rockefeller Center, Times Square,  and Grand Central Station then to the Yankees Game, so we were doing a lot of walking. When we got the subway to head from Times Square to the stadium, Wes pulled out his wallet for the metro cards (which, as usual, he was in charge of (probably because of that one time where I lost my BART ticket while I was on the train)). He pulled out the metro tickets and looked in his wallet and right where his credit card (the card we use for everything) was supposed to be, there was an empty spot.

We left Porter & Coop to rush back over to Ben’s Deli (seriously, so good) to retrieve the lost card and once it was safely back in Wes’ wallet I said, “I hope you see the irony in this.” He tried to come up with excuses as to how he managed to leave his credit card behind and I just laughed a little. I, of all people, know how easy it is to forget things. I’m glad he’s beginning to understand this as well. Perhaps he’ll be a little easier on me next time I forget something.

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