BoomerGirl Diary

I woke up in a bad mood, knowing I had to surrender my car to the dealership for the entire day because my "Check Engine" light suddenly came on last week. I may not be the most auto mechanically-inclined chick on the planet but I'm hip to the "check engine" light scam. It's happened once before and, after a day of "computer diagnostics," all the computer could come up with was the possibility that I had failed to click the gas cap closed the last time I filled up.

At 8 o'clock sharp, I dutifully arrived at the dealership, dropped off my vehicle, and waited with another woman for the courtesy car to take us home. We acknowledged each other's presence but didn't converse, both of us too busy inhaling the dealership's watered-down coffee in an attempt to cut through the Monday morning haze.

Minutes later, we were summoned by the nice young man (caution: old lady lingo alert!) whose lot in life is to drive the courtesy car all over town several times a day. We hopped in the car and told the driver our addresses. He opted to take the other woman home first, which was OK by me since she lived relatively close to my neighborhood. We meandered through town, listening to NPR rather than engaging in small talk. The courtesy car pulled in her driveway. She thanked the driver and got out.

The nice young man waited as she fished for her house keys. It took 15 seconds for the three of us to realize what she had done. Sheepishly, she turned and headed back to the car.

"I can't seem to find my keys," she said.

"Did you leave them with the car?" I asked, helpfully.

"No, I took the car key off the ring. I must've left the rest in the waiting room," she said, starting to laugh.

"Oh, well," I replied, secretly congratulating myself that at least I wasn't THAT much of a flake. "It's Monday."

Together, we laughed and laughed. The driver assured her it wasn't the first time someone had made the mistake.

"Senility sucks," she announced, as she climbed back into the car for a return trip to the dealership.

We laughed all the way to my neck of the woods, cracking jokes about age and "menofog," like women our age tend to do when short-term memory takes a holiday.

As the driver turned onto my street, I started digging in my purse and immediately realized I had done THE EXACT SAME THING! I had no house keys, no garage door opener, nothing. I left the whole shooting match in the car!

I fessed up to my failing and the courtesy car exploded in laughter.

"Do you want to go back to the dealership?" the nice young man asked.

"Nope. Just take me home," I instructed him. "We've got four doors into the house. Chances are good I forgot to lock one of them."

Fortunately, I was right. Without breaking and entering, I got into the house through the screened porch, and waved the courtesy car on from the window.

I guess I AM that much of a flake, and then some. But, don't knock menofog. Sometimes, it works in your favor.