The Forgetting Day

It was about five minutes to 6 when Helena called, mostly to say she’d be home late from work, but she  started off just by casually asking “Are you at tennis?”

Oh, shit.  We have to leave the house at about 20 to 6 to get to tennis on time.  I’d just been watching TV (Discovery Channel, talking about the Battle of the Bulge.  WWII is sort of like  Chimpanzee behavior or people who claim to have been  kidnapped by aliens – I just can’t get enough.) and Isabel  was on  the computer playing SIMS and  we’d both  completely  forgotten.

So, she got ready in about 2  minutes and we were out the door, at a brisk pace.  On the way she said “Today is our forgetting day,” and I knew what she meant because this morning we went one stop too far on the Metro and she was almost late for school.

I said “Yes, but one stop on the Metro is no big deal because you just turn around and go right  back” and she said “Yes, but if I’m late to tennis  I don’t get a bad mark.”

She’s as scatterbrained and forgetful as I am, but her priorities  are in the right place.

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