Many of my friends have told me stories of decidedly absent-minded things they have done since becoming mothers. They sometimes call these events "mommy moments" and they include things like burning carrots, getting into the shower fully clothed, and forgetting money when they go to the grocery store. While I do not refute the evidence that motherhood, or rather the sleep deprivation that comes with the job, has an effect on brain function, I offer a different theory: we are all nitwits. Yes, because I too have ended up in the checkout line with a cart full of groceries and nothing but a pretty face to pay for them. And as far as I know, I am not a mother.
I am a nitwit.
You are a nitwit. We are all nitwits.
Tonight was no exception. I made plans to meet a friend for her birthday, and made certain that I double check the email for the scheduled meeting time before leaving work. The only thing I forgot to check was the name of the bar we were meeting at. Duh! So after parking the car and walking to the general vicinity of the bar (it wasn't there), I called Adam with surprisingly few details to aid a Google search for the place. He valiantly accepted the quest, but to no avail, and I went home. (Of course my friend replied to my messages as I walked in the door. At least I was in the right neighborhood.) I say it again: I am a nitwit.
If someone ever had a contest to find people who had poured apple juice on their cereal, walked 20 blocks to an ATM in 90 degree weather sans ATM card, drove to Rite Aid for a forgotten item and realized they were wearing pajamas en route (kept going), and went to a meeting on the wrong day, I would win. I have come home with icky shrimp flavored versions of otherwise tasty items which I had picked up accidentally. I have driven to Pittsburgh to see a concert and left the tickets on my door in Baltimore "so I wouldn't forget them." I have gone away for the weekend and left my purse at the apartment. (My grandma had to give me gas money to get home.) I have made cookies without key ingredients. (They really couldn't be classified as cookies when they were done...) I have ordered menu items at restaurants which clearly listed an ingredient I disliked in the description in the menu.
The thing is, I know everyone has these experiences...only most people have better excuses.
Hope you had a happy birthday, Jess. I owe you a drink!