Del writes: I was having a grand time printing snapshots on my new photo printer when I got near the bottom of the envelope of 5×7 paper and noticed a sheet with printing on it. I read it; it was called “Loading Support Sheet,” and you’re supposed to read it before printing. That sheet goes in the machine behind the sheet of paper you’re going to print on.
I used it on the last sheet of paper in the package, and it worked fine.
Then forgot to load more paper (because I didn’t have any left) and printed the next picture all over the instruction sheet, which loaded itself, lacking paper in front of it. You can still read the instructions, but it’s hard because of the Ganges River scene that is now printed over the words.
Oh well, as long as it works. . .


An hour later, I remembered that I had gone downstairs to check something on the internet, but had forgot what it was by the time I got there.
So I went downstairs a second time and remembered (it was to find out what a couple of downtown films were about), but only after nearly forgetting again while I wrote this. And I can’t remember the entire title of one of the movies.
But I can always Google it.


All the way to the audiologist’s office to pick up my new hearing aid, I had that feeling that I’d forgotten something. As soon as I stopped the car I realized that it was my reading glasses. Damn.
I managed to see the little button on the thingie for aiming the hearing aid, and to sign the Visa bill by using my outdated bifocal sunglasses (for driving the truck), and it worked out.
Got into the truck to drive home, leaned back and felt something poking me between the shoulder blades. It was my reading glasses, which dangled behind me from the granny string I wear them on.
Problem 1: wearing the glasses that way to start with;
2: tossing the glasses there because you have to irrigate a plugged ear;
3. Forget that you’re wearing them;
4: Needing a hearing aid.
Now: Why didn’t the woman selling the aid see a suspicious black cord around my neck, or my glasses dangling down my back when I left? Maybe she was too busy laughing. She’s a young squirt of about 55.


A younger person, on the receiving end of senior behavior, writes:
I went to mom’s to see how she was doing. She was telling me about her knee and that she had water on it. “Do you want to see?” So she pulls her waist string and drops her PJ’s to her ankles. I said as a young man I tried for years to get women to do that, but not my mom at age 83. There are just some things your son should not see and this is one of them.
So I hand her the hand-held grabber tool to pick up her pants and get whacked with the tool! At that point I told her she would have to pull up her own pants because there are also some things a son should not have to do. I asked if I should call her neighbor George (another geezer) to look at her knee and I got whacked again. The hell with it, I went home.


Got up at 5 this morning, for various reasons, one of which being a big
mockingbird singing his fool brains out, and varied my routine.
Went to the computer before coffee. Then went out to the back of the driveway for the paper. It wasn’t there. Nuts. Trudged out to the street and saw two papers lying in the neighbor’s yard. There’s normally only one there, so I figured that Miguel, the hardworking immigrant delivery man, had called in sick and the substitute driver was confused. Easy to get that way with our driveway setup.
Took one of the papers back in the house and found OUR paper lying on the stairs in the house, where I had put it when I went to turn on the computer AFTER picking up the paper. I forgot that I had got it and dropped it on the stairs.
Left it there to take back to the neighbor’s when we went swimming at 7:30.
Trudged upstairs, put coffee water on and opened the paper. It was yesterday’s.
Apparently the neighbor was away and hadn’t picked it up.
Wondering ONCE AGAIN about my poor brain’s condition, I trudged back
downstairs, picked our paper up from the stair step, trudged back up and finally got some coffee and a little awareness of the world around me.
I read the damn thing in about 5 minutes, wondering once again why I bother.
Thus dawned another day here in Teetering-on-the-Brink.
Sigh. . .


Player 1: “OK, that’s 30-40.”
Player 2: “Nope. It’s 40-30. We’re ahead.”
Player 3: Are you sure it isn’t deuce?”
Player 4: “No, it’s our ad.”
Player 1: “No, it’s OUR ad.”


Al reports:
So I’m pushing my basket around the supermarket and walk away from it to seach for tuna, or something, and then walk back to resume shopping. Couldn’t find the tuna.
Next thing I know, one of the young guys stocking shelves asks me: “Sir! (I hate it when they  do that) Do you realize you are pushing our cardboard basket?”
I looked down and sure enough, I was pushing a basket full of collapsed cardboard boxes.
At least it was an easy mistake to straighten out. I got the guy’s mind off it by asking him where the hell was the tuna, anyway? He told me and I hurried off.


I was already disgruntled at dinner out with friends. I had forgotten to put on my hearing aids, and occasions like this one, in a noisy restaurant, were exactly the reason I had bought the blamed things!
Then I leaned over the table a little to spear some lettuce and my close-up half-glasses slid off my nose and into the salad. I hadn’t worn my usual granny-cord with dangling glasses because I wanted to look cool.
And of course, cleaning bleu cheese off glasses lenses is impossible when you can’t see because your glasses have fallen into the salad. At this point I REALLY didn’t look cool.
Once again, my wife came to the rescue and order was restored.

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