Poor memory equals loss of wedding cake opportunities

I missed my buddy Bob’s wedding last Saturday. It was—from what I hear—a nice event; casual, fun, romantic. Everything a wedding is supposed to be, but without all the uncomfortable, formal hoo-hah associated with many such ceremonies.

I missed Bob’s first wedding, too, but that was mostly because his first wife hated my filthy guts. Probably still does. I am not universally loved, especially by my friends’ wives.

Apparently, I am a bad influence.

Bob’s new wife, however, is a real sweetie who doesn’t hate my guts. At least, not yet. So I got an invite.

I had been looking forward to the reception for weeks. Bob and I grew up together and all our old friends—Nosepick, BT, Blub and Frizzy Bri, among others—all were going to be there. I couldn’t wait to catch up.

But when the big day arrived, I forgot. It was as simple as that. I just plain forgot.

How, you might ask, could someone just forget something this important? I wish I had an answer for you, but I don’t.

Somehow, Bob and Tally’s wedding just slipped my mind.

So instead of attending a pleasant wedding, followed by a reception populated with good friends, conversation, and great food and drink, I instead did yard work, putted around the house, clipped the dog’s toenails. I feel so cheated!

And all because I have the memory of a 98-year-old recovering alcoholic with a severe cranial injury and late-stage Mad Cow Disease.

I get no sympathy from The Lovely Mrs. Taylor. According to her, my tendency is to “forget” things like roof tile mending, snow shoveling, grass mowing, and trash taking-outing. Also, she rightly notes that I never forget to buy beer, watch the opening credits to Baywatch or pick up new batteries when the two in the TV remote start getting weak.

I’m not sure why I’m so scattered. My schedule is full, but not Type-A-personality-overbooked-stress-inducing-think-I’m-gonna-have-a-major-coronary-by-age-30-die-young-leave-a-frazzled-looking-corpse full.

I stop to smell the roses. I take the path less traveled by. My mind is not chock-full of things I simply must remember. In fact, through a careful mix of avoiding responsibility whenever possible, volunteering for nothing, and cultivating a reputation for being an utter flake, I’ve managed to construct a lifestyle that requires me to remember very little.

Yet, too often, even those few things I should remember—that I want to remember—I somehow manage to forget. Sometimes, my forgetfulness results in nothing worse than a trip back to the grocery to pick up whatever it was Mrs. T wanted me to get while I was there buying beer. Sometimes, it means I miss a good friend’s wedding.

I’m like the dumb uncle in It’s a Wonderful Life, the one who manages to misplace the bank deposit.

Hopefully, my buddy Bob and his new wife will be as forgiving as Jimmy Stewart was in that movie. You know, the one we were talking about a minute ago? I forget the title.



More “Reality Check” online at http://mtrealitycheck.blogspot.com or www.milive.com. E-mail Mike Taylor at mtaylor325@gmail.com.