Trying to help what’s-his-name remember everything

Posted Monday, Aug. 26, 2013  comments  Print Reprints

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It’s Monday night after dinner and we’re unconsciously following our routine. “Hey, what ya’ watching?” I ask, bringing an armload of socks into the living room to match. “Oh, that,” I say before the movie buff has a chance to answer. I pause to watch some of the action before continuing. “We’ve already seen it.” I walk back into the laundry with the two socks I paired.

“What movie?” he finally asks as if he just noticed the entertainment box has movement.

“The one you’re watching. Remember that girl, what’s her name? She tries to steal something like a necklace or some money from behind that portrait. There, see.” I point to the screen.

“No, dear,” he says. “That was that other movie with that guy you like. Him,” he bounces his finger up and down as if it’s going to pump the guy’s name into that forgetful memory of his.

You know, ever since we’ve gotten older, he seems to have a hard time remembering things. Just like the other day when I asked him to take out the trash. He went out into the garage and came right back in saying it was already at the curb.

“Oh, yeah,” I say. I forgot I took it down when I went out there for something because I knew he would forget. I can’t do all the remembering. I have so many more important things on my mind like, where did I put my purse with the black over the shoulder strap. I ask. He doesn’t know where I put it. I’m telling you, his brain isn’t what it used to be. Besides, men have it so much easier. It’s a wallet and that’s that. It’s only the one. He doesn’t have different colors to match his pants. BOOORRRINNNG.

“You were going to get the mail.” He butts his words right into my head. And that’s another thing. I can’t even think without him making me forget about what I am thinking!

“Oh, I remember that,” I say a little put out that HE thinks HE has to remind ME, for pity sakes.

It’s really getting terrible. We are probably the only people in Mansfield without keys to our own house because he’s lost them. I didn’t lose them. I don’t need them. Oh, we’ve got keys, lots of them but none seem to fit the front door. Our children, on the other hand, all have our keys. The man of the house uses the garage key pad and heaven help us if he ever forgets that code. I just walk through the front door that he forgets to lock.

Speaking of codes, we have a book in some drawer with all sorts of codes because he can’t remember one from the next. I’ve got codes in that book, too. Codes for USTA when I played tennis and I just might start that up again. There’s a code for Lionbrand yarn in case I want to learn how to knit. But I don’t need them now. He’s got codes for codes, codes to unlock the computer, get our e-mail and see what I’ve spent while shopping, codes to Amazon for his Kindle books, iTunes, to update, to delete and for Facebook with the grandkids. No wonder his brain is scrambled.

That brings me to computers. Whose bright idea was it to change to Windows 7? I was doing perfectly well on Windows 98. So what if I can’t get any mail. I can still type and I know where everything is. This is my computer. His is new and if for some reason I use it, I have to hunt around at the bottom of the screen. Where is sell chek when you ned it? And the computer guy I married doesn’t have a clue.

“Have you seen my glasses?” the master of the castle asks as he puts the movie on hold because they’re speaking German and he can’t read the subtitles. Besides having more phones than all of our children combined, we have eyeglasses everywhere. Why would he ask me, catching me off guard while I’m looking for…Shoot! What was I looking for?

Have you ever gone to Home Depot and just sat in the car because you forgot what you came to buy? Or go into the kitchen for who knows what and have to start over walking back to the same place from which you came? Or put your coffee cup down and accuse your husband of throwing it out when you had it perfect? Me neither.

I guess I’ll resort to writing things down. “That’s what lists are for,” I explain to my absent-minded partner as I tape the paper to the table. He looks it over without touching it as if he will admit to its existence if he does. And that is that. There is a list to remind him what to pick up at the grocery, one on the back door saying, turn off the TV, on the light switch, on the microwave and the oven. I’ve even thrown in a few chores because he won’t remember tomorrow what he’s forgotten to do today. Easy.

Oh dear, it’s Tuesday already? Where has the week gone? I walk into the living room. “Hey, what ya’ watching? “ I ask with an armload of socks to match. “Oh, that,” I say before I get an answer. I pause to watch some of the action before continuing. “We’ve already seen it.” I walk back into the laundry with the two socks I paired. Did I do this yesterday?

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