I went to Target today. Yes, the modern day equivalent of happy hour. 56 minutes of uninterrupted bliss while looking at luxurious bedding with ridiculous thread count, scented candles and picture frames that don't exactly match, but coordinate just enough to make it look as if you happen to have frames by someone named Nate Berkus laying around that go with everything you own. I purchased a Venti-Light (yeah right, like that makes a difference) Caramel Frappaccino, and casually strolled the isles, my fingers lightly touching the downy soft lap throws (I live in the desert and only have need for a downy soft lap throw approximately 2 days out of an entire year, however this does not stop me from looking and touching them), and imagining myself taking an afternoon nap on a bed made up entirely of Rachel Ashwells Shabby Chic line of "Casual, Vintage-inspired" bedding. I passed through the Summer themed Dollar isle of irresistibly packaged note cards, cheap plastic sand pails, and brightly colored, brittle frisbee's that crack the minute they become airborne. I am not ashamed to admit that I enjoyed every minute of it, I truly did. Hey, I only spent $5. and 72 cents so it's not like I hurt anything, and it's not like I went to Molly's Tavern and put back a 6 pack of tall boys. When I finished my shopping (FYI, 2 bottles of "Iceland-cherry" flavored Gatorade and an extra large bottle of generic Pepto-Bismol for the dog which may or may not have Parvo, and the goat who has diarrhea, CAN YOU BLAME ME FOR WANTING TO ESCAPE REALITY? I mean a vomiting dog AND a goat with the soupy-poopies? Could it possibly get any worse than that?) I left the store and went out to my car, or should I say, where I usually park my car? It was not there. I had parked it in a different spot out of the sheer excitement of being at Target BY MYSELF. Big mistake. I spent the next 20 minutes wandering around aimlessly while furiously clicking the car alarm remote, which of course only works when I am directly in front of the car. By the time I had circled the entire parking lot for the fifth time, the dear shopping cart attendant had mercy on me and casually asked me what color and type my car was. Notice that he didn't ask me if I had forgotten where I had parked? It was glaringly obvious that I had indeed forgotten, and he spared me the humiliation. He then proceeded to find my car for me in less than a minute. (Be careful to entertain strangers, for you may have entertained an angel unaware) I realize that I am no longer a spring chicken. I may not even be a summer chicken...(somewhere between a Fall Chicken and a Winter chicken if you must know)Don't try to kid yourself. I don't care how much wrinkle cream you slather on, or what shade of Lady Clairol you use, if you are not dead, you are aging. Things are going to sag. Your memory won't stay the same. You will forget where you parked the car. It's gonna happen. Soon after this humiliating experience , the thought occurred to me that I could share with you some tips that have helped me during my "Moments," and maybe, just maybe I could keep them from happening to you. I am going to do my best to remember them for you:
1) When you are going to the store, always park in the same area. ALWAYS. If you happen to have a horrible sense of direction, and have a cell phone with a decent camera on it, you could even take a series of pictures as you go into the store and look at them when you are returning.
2) Designate an area next to your front door for your keys. Use a pretty basket or a dish. As soon as you unlock your door, put the keys where they belong.
3) Keep a pad of paper and a pencil next to your bed, by the phone, and next to the spot where you watch TV, and even next to the throne, and write everything as you think of it. Don't try to trust your memory.
4) Metamucil is your friend.
And lastly:
5) When your goat has diarrhea, give it Pepto-Bismal. It helps. (OK, maybe this has nothing to do with aging, but it is most certainly helpful information.
So there you go folks, from my brain to yours,
Miss Jodi
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