Sunday, June 10, 2012

Middle-age is a'comin.

It started with my excitement about going all by myself on a trip to the newfangled "JCP" store to look for a swimsuit for myself and Father's Day gifts for next weekend.  

I sent Ted a photo of myself in a suit that made it look like I actually had something up top.  He showed it to the kids, which they thought was hilarious.  Mama usually ain't got cleavage.

JCP will make you sexy, you know it.

Later, I drove across the street to look at discount shoes and then walked two stores down to a party supply place.  I was in these stores only twenty minutes, and my car was gone.  This was not one of those complicated, multi-layed parking garages.  It was just plain ole outdoor lot in front of a strip mall, and my car was missing.  I wandered around for five or six minutes, getting more and more panicky.  I felt the heat rising in my neck.  One of my first thoughts was about my brand-new swimsuit that was just stolen along with the car, dammit.

I called Ted to tell him what was up.  

"Honey, the car is gone.  It's just not here.  I was only in there for twenty minutes, and it's just gone." 

I went into the first store and told them to call security, and they told me to call the police.  "You mean, just, like, dial 911?"  

"Yes ma'am.  They're right around the corner."

So I walked back outside and called the police.  I kept scouring the parking lot, but I had remembered the exact spot I'd been in, and my car was simply not there.  I tried to be calm as I talked to them about my emergency.  Since first realizing I couldn't find the car, I'd been hitting the 'lock' button twice to listen for that telltale "beep" of the horn to signal where my car was.  I hadn't heard anything at all.

At least not until I was on the phone with the 911 operator, having already given my name, phone number, car make, model and year. 

I had just bought a JCP swimsuit for myself and then completely lost all memory of having driven my car from one end of a parking lot to another.  And not only that, but I was so convinced my car had been stolen that I acted on my panic and called the police.  

(In case you're wondering why I'd driven my car from one side of a parking lot to another, it's because I hadn't seen the party supply store until I was leaving this strip mall.  I'd done a quick turn-around to go to the other store.)

That is the end of my little story about how I'm getting old.  It is not poetic or profound or anything.  Just me losing my mind.


Lynette said...

Heart-facing adrenaline to red-faced embarrassment, all in the space of a few moments. Yep, that's getting older, honey. It's not the end of the world, though, just a new phase as it continues to turn.

Staci said...

If it makes you feel any better,a couple of months ago someone came into my office and asked to borrow my key to the bathroom. A while later I thought to myself "Wow. She's been gone a long time. I wish she'd come back with my key." Then I reached back....and they were already in my pocket. She had come back and handed them to me and I had absolutely no recollection of it. Freaked me out!

Coffeemom said...

Welcome to my world....done this. Without calling police but still. Almost. And when my dad did it 20 years ago (he's 80) my sister and I got so worried......ha!

I might post about my latest...but it's so horrifying I don't know if I can stand it. But yeah- that brain fog only gets worse!

Xo. M

annieglan said...

ahhahahahahha This is the best story. I had the opposite experience. I thought I couldn't find my car, forgot where I parked. I looked around for a long time. Took a break, came back looking. Only to come to the conclusion hours later that it was indeed stolen. I called the police and it really was a miracle. About a month later they called saying they found my car. It still ran, but was out of gas.

Rusty Spell said...

"... a swimsuit for myself and Father's Day gifts for next weekend."

Aren't these one and the same?

Claudia said...

and hilarious. You forgot hilarious.

you only live once said...

I could do that...yes, I could. --Elaine