This one is just for fun and to reassure you that you are not the only one losing your mind.
Having my wake up shower in the morning is my thing. It’s a byproduct of forty-five years of needing to get to work early and refreshed. That meant clocking in anywhere from 6-8 am, depending on the nursing area I was in at the time.
Now, I’m retired and have traded my scrubs in for leggings and baggy sweatshirts. Ahhh…the comfort! I’m not one that thinks you have to wear a new outfit everyday, so brightly flowered leggings with a solid colored sweatshirt can do me for three days if I’m fortunate enough not to dribble lunch down the front. When I slip off my clothes at night, I like to lay them on the edge of my garden tub so that I’m ready to jump (a figure of speech, only) in the shower come morning. All I’ll have to do is grab a pair of fresh undies from my drawer.
Most mornings go off without a hitch –except this one morning when it didn’t. I shower, dry off, and proceed to dress, but soon I discover that my panties have done a vanishing act. How can this be? I’m a creature of habit and I always lay my undies on top of my other clothes since they are the first thing to go on. (As you can see, I’m quite organized so this was quite baffling.) They positively are not where I always put them. I know I’m not crazy; I can remember taking my only white pair out of the drawer. I shake out each piece of clothing. I check the trash…just in case I might have had a brain freeze. I thrust my hand into the pockets of my robe I wore into the bathroom. I peer into my brush drawer and then my towel cupboard. I remake my bed, then get down on all fours and peer under it. I take twice as long getting up as I did getting down. I check the clothes hamper, wondering if I tossed them in there by habit. Seriously…David Copperfield couldn’t have done a better job! If only someone else were in the house, I’d know it was a practical joke, but I’m left with no one to blame.
Well…what the heck. It’s just a pair of underwear. With a deep sigh, I do the only logical thing and grab another pair from the drawer. I clutch them tightly to my chest as if they’re a bird squirming to take flight. Returning to the bathroom, I slip one leg in and then the other. As I pull them up, they balk at my hips. What’s the deal, now? Heaven knows I’ve had plenty of time to dry off – running around naked as I had. There should be no lingering damp friction to make them resist.
I glance downward to check things out. “Oh, my gosh – you’ve got to be kidding!” There, rests my white pair of panties around my hips, right where they are supposed to be. I can’t believe it…heaven help me… I’ve just slipped over the line from forgetfulness to dementia; I know it.
When I tell the story to a trusted friend I swear her to secrecy. Know what she says? “Oh, you’ll tell everyone – you won’t be able to keep that story to yourself.” I hate it when she’s right.