Uh, What Was It That I . . . ?

Last night I was getting ready for bed and I couldn't find my nightgown. It wasn't hanging over the footboard of the bed. It wasn't under any of my clothes lying on the bedspread. It wasn't on the floor.

It had to be there somewhere. So I looked. But no, not under the pillow, not under the covers, not under the bed, not in the basket with the dirty clothes.

Well, it was late. I was half undressed and cold. I have other nightgowns, nice clean ones. So I put one on and went to bed. I'd find the missing garment someplace obvious in the morning.

So then, early this afternoon, I was bringing a clean sweater up from the laundry room. I folded it up nicely and opened my sweater drawer to put it away. And there, lying on top of my sweaters, was my carefully-folded flannel nightgown.

What the . . . ?

Please understand, this was not a matter of my putting something somewhere reasonable and forgetting I put it there. My nightgowns don't belong in that drawer! They don't even belong in that dresser! In fact, technically-speaking, they don't even go in that room! Besides, this one wasn't clean, it had been worn! Whatever would possess me to put it in the sweater drawer? Where was my freaking mind when I put it there?

Oh, gosh. Am I headed for premature senility?

Kitteh sez, Du nawt want!!

But suppose that's what I'm headed for. I guess that means before it's too late I'd better exert myself and finish up all the half-completed projects I've got lying around the house. I'd better hurry up and do all those wonderful things I always wanted to do. I mean, Schubert can leave unfinished symphonies lying around, but not me!

If I'm on the way to losing my marbles-- what I have left of them-- I'd better get moving and start and complete my masterpiece, my magnum opus.

That is, if I could only remember what it's supposed to be . . .

I've Given In

. . . To creeping middle age.
I've always hated the look of eyeglass keepers. Nothing says Over the Hill like an eyes-going-bad, where-the-hell-did-I-put-that-pair-of-specs, jawline-jowl-enhancing eyeglass string.

I mean, not even Tom Selleck looked good with them actually on-- which probably is why you can't find a picture of him with his glasses-on-a-cord anywhere but dangling on his sexy chest.

But I've given in. It was either keep my close-up, high-magnification glasses tied to me, or go on looking like a total dafty running round trying to find them. I spent two or three dollars more for the handmade-in-India beaded model-- it reminds me of the hippie-dippy days of my misspent youth.

Hey, that's it! My new eyeglass keepers aren't a sign of advancing senescence! They're returning me to my childhood! I mean, aren't they a lot like that string your mother used to sew on your mittens and thread through your coat sleeves, to keep you from losing them?