(SNN) - I don’t expect much sympathy for my Short Term Memory Loss issues but read this anyway, there’s very little whining. Please give me your full attention, and if it’s not too much trouble, hand over your car keys and wallet, too.
Short Term Memory Loss (STML) means you recall your third grade math teacher’s name but not the person you just met. So you have to call everyone “Pal,” or “Lady” or “Fatso.”
I have many other STML issues, of course—like where the hell I put the list I just listed listing my long list of STML issues, plus my list of synonyms for the word “list.”
Instead I have an old joke and an amusing anecdote about STML to help you understand it. If you behave, there may be chocolate chip cookies later.
The joke is an old one I stole. Let’s call it an homage, instead. Homage is a French term meaning “plagiarism without the lawsuit.” (Swiping old jokes has actually been legal since the landmark court case of Milton Berle v. Everybody.)
THE JOKE: “Only three things bother me about growing older: My bad memory, my lack of endurance, and my bad memory.”
THE STML ANECDOTE: The other morning I was low on groceries and also needed to get my prescription sunglasses repaired. The sunglasses suffer from “Chronic Lens Pop-out-itis.” What to do about that?
First I called a friend in TV news to ask what causes “Chronic Lens Pop-out-itis.” He said it was probably Ebola and sent over a news crew, two reporters and a doctor in a Hazmat suit.
The next day I got up early, donned my indoor prescription glasses, and squinted through the windshield as I took my sunglasses to an Optimist. He cheerfully redirected me to an Optometrist and said the future looked good for me.
“We have to send your sunglasses off to the manufacturer. It will be about a week,” the Optometrist said.
I reminded him we’re in Southern California where the sky is very bright, adding, “What am I supposed to do while these are gone? I need them to drive.”
He handed me one of those dark plastic roll-up “sunglasses” that eye doctors give you to wear home when your eyes are dilated. He told me to stick it under my non-prescription glasses and wear both of them together. I resisted the urge to tell him where to stick that idea.
“I look ridiculous enough without adding more balloons to the clown party my face is hosting,” I said. He recommended a plastic surgeon.
I put on my combo-moron eyewear and checked my reflection. I looked like a guy with the IQ of a Congressional committee chairman whose fashion advisor is a cow paddy.
Next I drove to the grocery store, parked, and got out to fetch one of the 800 or so reusable grocery bags I store in my car’s trunk. I have 800 or so reusable grocery bags stored in my trunk because plastic bags are illegal in California. Of course I’d forgotten to remove my combo-moron eyewear, so a kid walked by and said, “Look at the guy in the combo-moron eyewear, Mommy. Doesn’t he look ridiculous?”
I removed my combo-moron eyewear, shut the trunk and headed off, forgetting to bring one of the 800 or so reusable bags stored in my trunk.
I shopped, paid the 10-cents-per-paper-bag “idiot tax” you pay for forgetting to bring reusable bags, returned to my car, got behind the wheel and put on my rollup plastic sunglasses. I’d forgotten the details of the combo-moron eyewear look, so I donned a second pair of sunglasses I keep in the car for emergencies.
I drove away—literally and figuratively in the dark—wondering who turned out the lights. I feared the worse— that I’d been sent with Bruce Willis on a mission to re-light the sun in Armageddon II: This Time Bruce Re-lights the Sun.
Then I remembered two things. (1) It was dark because I was wearing two pair of sunglasses and, (2) my groceries were sitting in their 10 cents-a-bag paper bags back at the grocery.
Fortunately, the grocery store manager had my groceries safe in his office, next to my credit card, the one I’d left at the register.
“You know you’re wearing two pair of sunglasses, right?” the manager asked.
“Yes. It’s my new look. You got a problem with that, Fatso ?
FINAL NOTE: There will be no chocolate chip cookies. I forgot to buy them . I blame STML. And, of course, Obama.
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