Okay, this is really embarrassing. I’m about to admit something I dislike about myself to anyone who will listen. I am an “expert” with historical dates–ask me just about any well known date in American history, and I’ll tell it to you. I know them about as well as I know my own birthday and anniversary, as well as the birthdays of my loved ones.
However–gulp–I cannot keep my own dates straight from day to day! I routinely show up for appointments only to be told, “Uh, Rebecca, you’re due here tomorrow,” or “Rebecca, you’re an hour late,” or “Rebecca, that was yesterday. Where were you?”
A few weeks ago, we showed up for church on a day in which the two services were to be combined. Afterwards there was to be a covered dish luncheon, and there I stood with my huge salad wondering where everyone was. It turned out we were an hour off, and a week away–I got the date wrong, again.
Today I was scheduled to do a radio show that I very much wanted to be part of. Then I discovered, again at the last minute, that my son had no school today, and there was no one to babysit while I was on the air. Ugh. I cancelled, unwilling to take a risk that my son, who hates it while I’m on the phone and who is even now pretending to type while I do this, would be able to remain quiet while I answered profound questions. (“Mama! I gotta pee!”)
Okay, so what’s wrong with me anyway? I hope no one suggests that it’s a function of aging! I’d rather be thought a quirky genius!
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