Just Gross

Blake is a wonderful guy. He's thoughtful and loving and nice. He doesn't mind doing anything I ask (like garbage duty) and he's generally neat, but he's also very single-minded. When he decides something must be done, it must be done that very second. Saturday, when we came home with the groceries, he decided the freezer must be reorganized. So, he took everything out, put it on top of the fridge, put in the new meat and away we went. Do you see where this is going?

Yesterday, he got back from class (about 5:30) and says, "What is that smell?" Yes, I had smelled it that morning, but I'd burned the candle and the mysterious smell wouldn't go away. So, I lit my Oust candle again and hoped for the best. Well, a few hours later, Blake must hunt down the disgusting scent. Oh look! Ice cream, cheese and hamburger meat... sitting since Saturday on top of the fridge. He'd forgotten he'd put all of that stuff on top of the fridge in a span of oh, say, ten minutes.

It was gross. I ribbed him a little, but he felt so bad I couldn't make fun of him for very long. Is there some kind of gender-related short-term memory problem? My father has this problem too. I grew up hearing this conversation one to fifteen times a day:

Dad: Oh so-and-so is stopping by later.
Mom: You never told me that.
Dad: I didn't?
Mom: You most certainly did not *exasperated sigh*
Dad: pause I could have sworn I told you.
Mom: Well you didn't.
Dad: Are you sure?
Mom: *the look* Yes, I am sure.

To sum up? Last week, Blake and I were having a conversation in the kitchen. We paused to go to the living room, looked at each other and couldn't for the life of us remember what the heck we were talking about. We retraced our steps. We re-enacted what we were doing. We couldn't remember.

Man, oh man, sometimes I think I should check myself into an assisted living facility for seniors. Blake could keep me company.