Well, it’s come to that point. Yesterday, during our evening martini klatch, Sal said something really funny, and her very next remark was, “I should write that down.” She didn’t mean that she should write that down for posterity or our book; she needed to write it down so she could remember to use that funny line again in front of someone who hadn’t heard it.
We need cheat sheets at this age. Writing things down on the palm of the hand is a good start, but don’t use a Sharpie, because , “Buy 2 boxes of Preparation H” will be there for years to come. You won’t be able to shake anyone’s hand for fear that miscellaneous and copious notes will be discovered written all the way up your wrist.
I know that ALL of you agree with me on this one...How much do you trust the waiter who takes orders from a table of six without writing one thing down?? I don’t care how confident they look or how much they assure you they’ve ‘got it.’ All anyone would have to do to them en route to the kitchen is say something like,”How much is 12+27+49?” Poof!
I’m a secretary, and I write down every friggin’ thing anyone says to me between the hours of 8 am and 4 pm. I don’t care if it’s, “Change the toilet roll, will you?” That’s a good example too, because you’d think that would be apparent the next time you found yourself in the ladies room with nothing but an old, wadded-up kleenex in your purse from the movie you saw 6 months ago that was so hard it had cracked.
I wanted to tape the newest Ray Donovan episode, and it was the very first thing that popped into my head as I woke up in bed this morning, so I tossed the tv remote on the floor near my bedroom door so that I would have to step over it on my way down the hall, and then wonder why the tv remote was on the floor, thus jogging my memory into remembering something...not necessarily the Ray Donovan episode, but maybe to buy more face cream or give the cat her medicine or remind Sal of something I’d long ago forgotten. Are you getting the picture here?
Oh yeah, KK, it’s a sad thing. I can’t remember anything anymore. Wait, I take that back. I remember what I wore at my sixth birthday party, in detail. I remember that my best friend, Ellen McClatchy had brown and white Saddle Oxfords instead of black and white. It was almost a deal-breaker for me. But I can’t seem to remember that I have a load in the washing machine. It sits in there for two days before I remember and then have to rewash it because of the mildew. I decide to remind myself on a sticky-note to take the wash out and put it in the dryer, but as I enter the kitchen to write it down, I see Odessa trying to catch a wasp that is trapped between the fridge and wall. I don’t want her to get stung! What if she gets stung on her nose and then goes into anaphylactic shock or something? We would have to rush her to the vet and also spend lots of money for cat Benadril or an I-V - if we can get her there in time.
Where was I ….KK, do you remember that Ellen McClatchy wore brown and white Saddle Oxfords? I hate wasps. I hate the way their back legs hang down when they fly. They are nasty.
I was going to write something down. Oh, never mind, it’ll come to me.