Dear Reader,
Three is the magic number.
If my husband or I are going to the market, and we need to buy more than three items, we have to make a list. Two grown, intelligent adults ought to be able to remember four or five grocery items without writing them down. But nevertheless...
Just last week my husband decided to break through the "big three." His idea was to walk through the store parking lot, repeating under his breath, the five items we needed: Rice, cheese, broccoli, paper towels, and extra large eggs.
You may think people would have thought he was a bit nuts, chanting his grocery list as he walked through the parking lot. His only saving grace from people being concerned for his sanity, is that we live in Sarasota, Florida. It's a city filled with retired people and snowbirds who spend the winter here to get away from the cold up north. People drive around with their car's turn signal on (but they never turn), and even when my husband and I were shopping in a furniture store and my 89 year old father-in-law fell asleep in one of the comfy recliners, the clerk told us to let "Dad" sleep and he'd call us when he woke up. So if folks observe weird behavior, but the person is still talking, walking and breathing, they chalk it up to age. Nothing to get excited about, after all, they're aging every day, too.
The other day, when my husband and I were driving to the store to buy three items (that I can't think of at the moment), I reminded him that we also needed to mail a letter I brought with us, since the post office was right across the street.
Jokingly my husband said, "How much do you bet we'll forget to mail the letter?"
"Not to worry," I told him. "I'm actually going to hold the letter in my hand until you get back from the store." After a few minutes, feeling a little ridiculous, I decided to set the letter in my lap. But then I felt nervous. 'What if I forgot the letter was in my lap, when I got out of the car? I might find it next week, tucked alongside the seat in the car.' So I started fanning myself with the letter. An "active" letter surely will end up in the mailbox across the street. So there I sat in the passenger seat of our car, waving a letter back and forth. I think people assumed I was having hot flashes. But apparently I have more hot flashes than I realize, because waving the letter back and forth in front of my face must not have seemed strange to me or my husband--because I was still waving the letter back and forth when we pulled into our driveway.
So what's the lesson in all of this? One, two, three, four, five items (my husband's parking lot chanting didn't work)...we're always going to make a list.
Thanks for reading with me. It's so good to read with friends.
Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com
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