Forgetful – Not Me

W.O.T.D.C. FORGETFUL

Forever leaving things in a special place is my speciality. Sometimes I outdo myself. Mostly it is my glasses. I put them down to do something else and then have to retrace my steps. Even then I still cannot locate them.

Weeks later, I’ll look down on the side, and there they sit, as if they have been there all the time. Sometimes it is my car keys, or a pen, or my purse. I run around the house like a forgetful chicken. Why does it always happen when I am in a rush?

I ask my husband for clues, but he is a little bit useless, and will panic me even more. Then I reach inside my pocket, and there the keys are having a laugh at my expense.

I can remember numbers, but names I cannot remember, no matter how much I try. I can work with someone for years and still have trouble recalling their name. I think this is because most people are miss or sir where I work, so I don’t have to use their names.

I feel stupid when I don’t remember their names, but it isn’t on purpose. I know that, and I hope they do to. If someone forgot my name I would understand that no harm was meant.

Published by writerravenclaw

I am a fifty something mother of two grown up children, and one beautiful grandchild. I have been married for nearly thirty-four years. My first book was published ten years ago. I wrote my book Sticks and Stones because of my experience of being bullied at school.

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