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Forgetfulness is a topic that comes up around our house fairly often—at least it is when we get through a conversation without forgetting what we were talking about.
Mel is a little touchy about it. If I suggest I've already told him something, he insists I didn't. If I press him, he says I probably meant to tell him but forgot!
I'm having to prompt him more and more when he's on the telephone because he'll start trying to call some-one's name and can't remember it. The problem with starting down that road is he now expects me to do all the remembering for both of us! He gets a little miffed if I can't instantly recall a name for him—especially since he gives so many good clues.
"You know...it's 'at fellar that lived out on County Road 806, the one with the fahn Brangus heifers. Had a one-eared bull...his cow dawg chewed it off."
I was stumped.
"Drove a '81 Ford Bronco. Big crack on the windshield an' the hubcap wuz missin' on th' driver's sahd."
I shrugged.
"His wahf wuz 'bout yore size an' wore her hair pahled up lahk a tumbleweed top 'er head. Her daddy wuz th' game warden...dawg gone, his name's raht on the tip o' mah tongue. You know, we went down thur once't to sein fer minners. Don't choo remember, you lost yore charm bracelet an' we had to go back with the metal detector."
"You don't mean Leonard Poston?"
"That's it," he said.
"I was trying to recall someone from long ago. Leonard was just here day before yesterday!"
I suppose what's puzzling to me is how my husband can remember someone's license plate number, the markings on all their cattle, the kind of tractor they have, and their family history, but can't recall their name. To be truthful with you, I think that's the reason he has so many pet names for me—honey, sweetie, darlin' and lately, Poopsie. Obviously, he's forgotten my name.
Mel thinks forgetfulness is a virtue. He says a clear conscience is usually the sign of a bad memory.
I must admit I've been a little forgetful myself, lately. But really, I think it's because I'm distracted. After all, like I said, it's a tough job having to do the thinking for two people. Anyhow, we were at my father's last week and had a nice visit. We left and got almost to Hillsboro when I realized I had left my purse at his house. I told Mel. He griped all the way back to Cleburne.
"You'd forgit yore head if it wudn't glued on. Ah don't see why you didn't thank of it 'fore we got 20 mahls down the road an' burned up $10 worth o' gas. We'll be lucky if yore daddy's still home. Ah thank he said sump'n about meetin' one o' th' boys fer supper..."
"I'm really sorry," I said. "I know it's aggravating, but I've got to have it. It's got my driver's license, checkbook, credit cards and all that stuff in it."
Mel grew strangely quiet. When we arrived, I jumped out and said, "I'll just be a minute."
"Okay," Mel said. Then he added, "I guess whahl yore in there, you may as well git my cell phone."
