It’s the oddest thing: I remember (down to the buttons) what my first-grade teacher, Mrs. Henderson, wore on the first day of school 43 years ago, but I can’t remember if I took a four-hour class last month.
I can’t recall which comes first in CPR, chest compressions or rescue breathing, but I remember the name of Rod Stewart’s second ex-wife.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve started reading a book, only to realize after 50-some pages that, hey, I’ve read this before! If the book contains photos, I tend to remember pretty quickly. If not--well, I’ve read merrily along for five or six chapters before it occurs to me that I know the ending. (Spoiler: The evil twin usually dies.)
Widdle Baby seems to be catching my absent-mindedness. A few weeks ago, we rented a DVD at a grocery store kiosk in Summerville. We love this kiosk (only $1 for a movie!) and visit it regularly.
On this day, Widdle had a head cold, and we just wanted to eat dinner, relax and watch a flick. After much deliberation (which may have seemed like bickering to bystanders), we picked a movie about a poker tournament in Las Vegas.
A few hours later we put the movie in and dimmed the lights. Widdle claimed his recliner; I flopped on the floor. We watched the previews, the credits and the first five minutes of the movie.
Then Widdle and I stared at each other in the dark and cried, in a perfect Greek chorus, “We’ve seen this before!”
It was a pretty good movie, but not good enough to watch a second time. “Let’s see what’s on the History Channel,” I suggested, which usually cheers Widdle up.
He shrugged and stared moodily into his alphabet soup.
“I can’t believe neither of us remembered renting this a month ago,” he fretted. “What else have we forgotten?”
And that, my friends, is the terrifying question.
My mother has been my mother for 49 years, and I haven’t gotten her birthday right once. Was she born in 1927, or on Oct. 27? In 1929… or Oct. 29? I’m always a couple of days off in either direction. Luckily she doesn’t hold a grudge.
I also can’t remember what I’ve worn where, or when, which explains why I’ve walked into church in the same skirt and sweater for three Sundays in a row.
Other things I can’t recall:
?    Do we have a dog?
?    Is it the first waffle you throw out, or the first cup of coffee?
?    Where is the title to my car??What’s my blood type?
?    When, exactly, did I sprout 3-inch chin hairs?
?    Why is there a South of the Border magnet on my refrigerator when neither I nor anyone I know has ever been there?
?    When was the last time I changed my contacts?
?    Where is the flathead screwdriver?
?    How old is my husband?
?    When was my last mammogram? (Or as I like to call it, “slamogram.”)
?    Did I take my sleeping pills?
?    How do you get to North Carolina?
There has to be a name for this affliction, but darned if I can remember it.
Julie Smith, who’s forgotten more than she actually knows, can be reached at widdleswife@aol.com.