When my son lived at home, he was extremely forgetful. Even today, he suffers with remembering things.
I found this entry in an old diary and it me wonder if he had a hole at the side of his head where sense falls out.
On Saturday morning I asked Ian to put a small table up in the loft for me as there is no space for it and I didn’t want to throw it out.
I reminded him Sunday, Monday, Tuesday and now Wednesday as he showed me a hammer he’d bought at the pound shop.
“That’s handy,” I said, “Can you hammer down the nails that have risen on the door grip in the kitchen?”
“Sure,” he said, still examining his new purchase.
“Oh and don’t forget that table.”
“I’ll do it later.”
Later on that day, he was in the kitchen running the hot water for three dishes he’d taken to his room on consecutive days. The cereal in them had dried hard, so they were soaking before he washed them. As they did, he was making sandwiches for his dinner as he was on a late shift.
“I’m taking butties today, Mum, and some fruit. I was caught short yesterday with nothing to eat and no money.”
“Good idea. I’m just nipping out to the shop, now,” I said, putting on my coat and grabbing a bag.
“Ok, I’m going to work in minute.” He was licking the fork with the tuna and salad cream which he then tossed into the hot water with the soaking dishes.
“Don’t forget the washing up, and, oh and will you turn the washer off before you go?”
“Sure, ” he said. again.
I went out the door and paused on the step, should I remind him about the washing machine? No, I’ve just this second told him.
I returned after half and an hour and he had gone. As I opened the door, I saw the little table at the bottom of the stairs and I heard the washing machine spinning. I walked towards the kitchen and tripped over the nails on the carpet grip tearing my trousers. As I catapulted myself towards kitchen sink, I saw all the washing up, he’d not done.
Swearing, I turned round and there were his sandwiches, all packed and ready to go!