“I looked in the mirror at work and realized I forgot to put makeup on,” a casual Facebook update that soon lit up my wall with likes and comments. I realized as each friend told me their funny story of forgetfulness, that I had also done nearly every one. My friends comments to my status update wrote this post.

Danielle said she ended up at work with one blue and one black shoe and Lisa wore two different flip-flops. Yeah, been there, done that. My wearing two different kinds of black shoes could be a fashion statement. At least I didn’t look down and realize I had forgotten to put shoes on, as a young sleepy friend did on his first day working for a bank.

Katie said she wore her shirt backwards and wondered why that tag was itching her neck all day. I too kept wondering why my new elastic waist cargo pants weren’t as comfortable as when I bought them. The light bulb finally went off when I went to put my hands in my pockets at the end of the day and finally realized they were on backwards. I really was ass backwards.

That reminds me of the time I slid on the same pair of slacks for church that I had worn the night before. As I walked down the isle that Sunday morning, I felt something slide down my leg and fall out onto the floor. It was my Saturday night panties.

In other goofy things we all do, Robin paid for gas and drove off without putting the gas into the car. I’ve paid for food at a fast food drive-through and got home and realized I’d forgotten the food and I’ve driven off with the vacuum tube cylinder from the bank drive-through. Marie’s story tops those; she filled up her car and drove off with the gas hose still attached. She wondered what that flapping sound was. She said the attendant didn’t find it funny when she returned the broken off gas hose and handle.

Lisa, Kim and Jaynie—I have also locked my keys in a running car. Yeah, I locked mine in my car at work. I was in the hospital cafeteria when they announced over the hospital-wide intercom, “Connie McLeod, please return to you car. The engine is still running.”

And Lisa, I don’t remember if I’ve tried to get out of the car with my seat belt on, but I have been unable to get into my home using the car unlock button. I don’t remember how many times I clicked that button while pointing it at the back door lock, I was too busy digging through my purse looking for my glasses that were on top on my head.

Olivia and Cheryl, I’ve shaved just one leg too. I’ve also gotten out of the shower with soaking wet hair and realized I’d forgotten to actually shampoo it.

Cheryl, I don’t have grandchildren yet, but like you I know I will be grateful when I see their smiling face from my rear view mirror all snug in their car seats and be so grateful that I didn’t leave them sitting in the parking lot or on the hood of the car.

I apparently have inherited my memory from my Mom. She was reminding me about getting a hamburger with the family at that new place Mad Cow. “No Mom,” I told her, “it’s called Fat Cow, not Mad Cow.”

Of course I had to Facebook that quote, to which my daughter commented that even after three years Nana can’t remember the name of the restaurant where she works, Coyote Blue (not Coyote Ugly). “Let’s go see Jade at Blue Crawfish,” she’ll say “or is it Red Coyote?”

My daughter can’t make too much fun of us. It wasn’t that long ago that I got the 2:00 AM phone call from her looking for a spare set of keys. She’d locked hers in the car and the engine was running. I told her to call Pop a Lock; I’d pay for it. I felt a little guilty realizing she’d inherited the gene.

Three generations

Three Generations; my mom, my daughter and me (where’s my glasses…oh, on top of my head)

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