My original intention today was to present you with two blogs.
But for the life of me, I can’t remember what the one was.
I have heard people say, in the past, that, “If you forgot about it, then it couldn’t have been that important.”
On several occasions, I have forgotten my own name. The first occurrence happened when I was pregnant with my second child, Lori, (more about her later). I stood at the reception desk, the head of a long line of waiting patients and asked for my pregnancy test results.
I could remember my two-year-old’s name. And I, of course, informed the waiting receptionist (and the queue) of that fact, not wanting to appear completely incompetent. When I finally realised what my mother had called me, and she had announced the positivity of my test, I could at least exclaim, “See, the symptoms have already started!”
I had no such excuse a few weeks ago (promise) when making a doctor’s appointment for myself. I took what felt like an eternity to remember who the hell I actually am. Or the following day, when I signed for a parcel, and used the wrong surname.
Luckily, I noticed my mistake immediately and therefore informed the rather young and scared looking delivery guy, “But that’s not my name!”
He made a quick getaway.
But my memory skills don’t only fail me with regard to my own name.
No. If it were that simple, I could wear a name badge.
They also desert me, in normal mundane tasks.
Like, the time a couple of years ago, that I forgot to lower my panties before sitting on the loo.
It was rather messy and not unimportant at all! I had to be rescued by my own children yet again. And I haven’t even reached the age of forty yet.
So today, I forgot what I wanted to write to you. I’m sorry, but I have no idea. It could have been of international significance, or it may have just been some blabbery dribble.
I’ll let you decide.
The second post I wanted to write, should have been a progress report on my well… Progress, with my 101 challenges. Do you remember? (ha ha). The challenge I’m doing with the one and only, hilarious Tilly Bud over at The Laughing Housewife.
But I have been somewhat waylaid. Mentioning no names, Lori, sorry it slipped out… Helped me with dinner yesterday. That is, she kindly put down her book, rose from the sofa and went downstairs and took pizzas out of the freezer.
And left the freezer door open.
Did I tell you my hands are really cold and it’s uncomfortable to type? Due to emptying ice cream and rescuing dead fish.
Anyway, I’m now cooking in mass proportions, researching – ‘Shit, some dreamy bloody person left the freezer door open, no, not on purpose, but for God’s sake the freezer was full!’ on the internet, and stuffing almost fully thawed chocolate éclairs in my
gob perfectly formed mouth.
Thus, here’s a quick update:
- I’ve watched two films, Tron (the new one) and Little Fockers. The older Fockers are much better, but I squeezed in a few laughs and Tron? Let’s just say my husband is really enjoying this challenge. But the effects were good, I do admit that.
- I went to the gym!!! Michael greeted me with a warm smile and is apparently really pleased to have me back. So much so that we toasted the event with a lovely lemon quark drink. My husband is jealous. No one has given him a free drink there yet.
- I started my date night with Reini. Very nice. My lovely husband and I enjoyed an equally lovely meal at a local restaurant.
- I went swimming again.
- I have started inviting people to the Eurovision party. If I haven’t invited you yet, it’s because I’ve only just started calling people. Or, I don’t know you. If in a week, you think that I do know you and I still haven’t called, refer to the above section on forgetfulness and send me an email.
- I have decided that some challenges are actually going to be more challenging than I thought. For instance the Freerice one. I am already bored. Especially, as they keep denying that my password is correct. And I keep having to send for a new one. I know that I remembered it correctly. At least, I think I do…
I have to go now, the once frozen steaks are actually ‘mooing’ at me to cook them.