King of States! presents: a cautionary tale.
When I got home from the gym this evening, there was a package waiting for me. I thought, “Ah! My new pair of yoga pants* and that orange shirt with the big number ‘5’ on it. Huzzah!” (I think “Huzzah!” a lot.)
As I rode up in the elevator, I wondered what compelled me to purchase an orange shirt with a big number ‘5’ on it; I passed my fifth birthday a few years back, and three is a better all-around number anyway. Then I remembered that when I was little, I had a blue sweatshirt with a big number ‘5’ on it; for the bulk of 1982, I wore nothing but that sweatshirt, a pair of corduroy pants, and cowboy boots. I was compelled, it would seem, by nostalgia.
But wait! While staring at the lit-up elevator buttons, I remembered that said blue sweatshirt did not, in fact, have a big number ‘5’ on it; it had a ‘4.’ “Ah,” I mused. “The fallibility of memory.”**
A few minutes ago, I opened the package. THE ORANGE SHIRT HAS A 9 ON IT. Which means:
- All my memories, long- and short-term, are suspect.
- I should never be allowed to provide eyewitness testimony for any matter of legal or ethical import.
- We should all start tattooing important facts that need to be remembered accurately on our persons, just to be safe.
You’re welcome.
* I’m down to fourteen or fifteen pairs (I work at home) so I was starting to get nervous. Crisis averted!
** I also start a lot of my thoughts with “Ah!” I’m basically on the cusp of surprise at all times.
LOL
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Lol This is just the kind of forgetfulness I have. Just enough to make me think i might be crazy! 🙂
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Crap! That flew off before I was done. I was going to say, Thanks for that post. And LOVE your writing. 🙂
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I’m impressed that you at least remembered that the original shirt had a number on it. My memory is so shot (surprise, surprise; I blame having children) that I would have probably just ordered a shirt with a green pig on it.
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I would totally wear that shirt, as along as it wasn’t one of those creepy anthropomorphized pigs like you see on the signage of BBQ joints.
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1) I, too begin many of my thoughts with “Ah!” only by me it does not denote surprise but rather, “I was right all along” and “when will I ever trust my absolute all-along-rightness?”
2) Thoughts beginning with “huzzah”, however, are doomed to be suspect from the get-go.
3) Much like Writing2 Words3, we too love your writing.
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But you have to be careful where you put the tattoos in case you need to refer to them in a public place. Good story. Love the twists. Don’t worry, after the memory goes, the rest is easy, whatever it is.
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Michelle, at least you remembered you had placed an order! I would have wondered who had sent me a package! ~Elle
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Ha! My mother in law once got a mystery package from China containing nothing but a pair of jeans that fit no one in the family, and it took forever for someone to figure out that they’d actually ordered it.
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Funny!
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Don’t smartphones remember things for us yet?
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Thanks for the chuckle! I’ve learned I can’t be trusted to make coffee in the morning. I should really measure it out the night before, so I don’t do things like put the percolator in the fridge to start boiling, or put the can of coffee away in the microwave…
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Thanks for the smile.
Now if I could just remember why I have this smile on face…
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I can relate to all three of your self-realizations. But I’m afraid of getting tattoos.
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In that case, I recommend having the things you need to remember tattooed on friends or loved ones. They’ll be happy to help.
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I too say and think Huzzah far too much. I blame Mike the Knight.
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cusp of surprise, eh? better than on the cusp of Jupiter…
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Speaking of tattoos- you saw the movie “Memory” right?
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Hey, I like this story, especially the part about the boots, you did mention boots didn’t you, cowboy boots? opps memory is showing or not…I like the part about having a pkg at your door, reminds me of a story…BJ
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You remembered correctly, just in two parts! 5 + 4 = 9!
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I love that your glass is always half-full 🙂
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Hey, newbie blogger here. Nice content.
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I like #3, but I would prefer that everyone had to wear a name tag. Always.
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