“What do you want for dinner?” I asked my husband.
“How about fish?” he replied.
I shook my head.
“I had fish for lunch. How about steak?”
“I’m sick of steak,” he said. “How about chicken?”
I nodded.
“Chicken it is.”
My husband went outside to light the grill while I jumped in the car to go get the food. I had planned to run into the supermarket, get the chicken, and then go right back home.
But when I got inside, I realized I needed a bunch of other things. A half-hour later, I checked out with all my groceries and went home. …
“I did it again. This time I remembered to buy the chicken, but I must have left it in the bag at checkout.”
Without the chicken.
“Ugh, I never bought the chicken!” I groaned as I finished unpacking the bags.
I scanned my receipt. No chicken.
“What are you going to do?” my husband asked.
“Go back and get the chicken.”
I got back in the car and returned to the supermarket, purchased the chicken and went home. …
Without the chicken.
“Oh my god! I did it again,” I sighed. “This time I remembered to buy the chicken, but I must have left it in the bag at checkout.”
“What are you going to do?” he asked again.
“Go back and pick up my chicken!”
I really couldn’t believe I had forgotten the chicken twice. I wasn’t usually that forgetful.
Yes, I did forget to pick up my luggage at baggage claim once. And I also forgot to pick up my daughter from school once. And I did leave my son at Target that one time.
So maybe I was a little forgetful. But based on this track record, I’d probably forget that I was forgetful so I didn’t really have to worry that it might be a problem.
Cursing all the way to my car, I went back to the supermarket to get another chicken. I showed them my receipt and explained the situation, and they let me pick another one.
Then I threw it in my cart and went home. …
Without the chicken.
“Where’s the chicken?” my husband asked as I walked in the door utterly chicken-less.
I looked down at my empty hands and slapped my forehead.
“I can’t even believe it,” I replied. “I think I left it in the shopping cart.”
“Honey, do you have memory issues?”
“No, but apparently I have poultry issues.”
At this point, I wondered if I should change our dinner plan. But I had already bought all the stuff to go with the chicken, and everyone was looking forward to it, so I decided I would give it one more shot.
I got in the car one last time and went off, again, to the supermarket. When I got home, I held up a supermarket bag in triumph.
“Did you get the chicken?” my husband asked tentatively when I walked in the door.
“No,” I replied. “I decided we should have steak instead.”
“Why?”
“They were out of chicken.”
