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  • Ann Morrow

I'm Such a Loser

I’m not a magician but can make things disappear. Without even trying. One minute, I have something in my hand. The next - poof. Gone. Sometimes gone for minutes. Sometimes months. Most often, permanently.

Yesterday, I misplaced the pepper grinder. I was seasoning a salad and seconds later, it vanished. I found it this morning. In the freezer. Next to my reading glasses.

Frequently, I lose my coffee. Minutes after pouring a cup, it’s gone. I’m convinced a mean-spirited neighbor comes in and moves it. Then sneaks out and watches through the window, as I search every flat surface in my home for a cup of cold decaf.

If I ever have to be connected to an emergency alert device, I hope it’s sizable. Any smaller than a Subaru, and I’m doomed. “Help. I’ve fallen, and my call button is in the freezer.”

When we purchased our car last year, fob-replacement insurance was offered. We declined. Thirteen days later, I lost a set of keys – fob and all. I’ve searched every pocket, cabinet and junk drawer in the house. They’re gone forever.

Could someone please invent a Bluetooth headset with a built in “find me” feature? It should send out something similar to the Bat Signal, along with a chorus of sirens – in case it’s buried in the hamper or lost under the couch. Or in the freezer.

I’ve been late for meetings because I can’t find my shoes. Panicked in parking lots because I don’t remember where I’m parked. And I’ve been locked out of online accounts because I lost my password. Yes, I wrote my logins down. Somewhere.

When the kids were still home, being a loser was manageable. Having my own personal, search team was very convenient. “Help Mommy find her glasses. Go look in the toybox for my wallet. Has anybody seen the cat?”

Recently, I saw an ad for a spa that read, “Lose yourself.” I can do that without a spa. My inner GPS is broken, and I have no sense of direction. I’ve been lost in hospital corridors, on well-marked hiking trails, and most recently, in JCPenney. I searched frantically for an exit, fearing they’d close the store and lock me in. I spotted fellow shopper and grabbed his arm. “How do I get out of here?” I blurted. He shook me loose and said, “I don’t work here.”

My doctor assured me I was fine, but just in case I bought some Gingko I’m not a magician but can make things disappear. Without even trying. One minute, I have something in my hand. The next - poof. Gone. Sometimes gone for minutes. Sometimes months. Most often, permanently.

Yesterday, I misplaced the pepper grinder. I was seasoning a salad and seconds later, it vanished. I found it this morning. In the freezer. Next to my reading glasses.

Frequently, I lose my coffee. Minutes after pouring a cup, it’s gone. I’m convinced a mean-spirited neighbor comes in and moves it. Then sneaks out and watches through the window, as I search every flat surface in my home for a cup of cold decaf.

If I ever have to be connected to an emergency alert device, I hope it’s sizable. Any smaller than a Subaru, and I’m doomed. “Help. I’ve fallen, and my call button is in the freezer.”

When we purchased our car last year, fob-replacement insurance was offered. We declined. Thirteen days later, I lost a set of keys – fob and all. I’ve searched every pocket, cabinet and junk drawer in the house. They’re gone forever.

Could someone please invent a Bluetooth headset with a built in “find me” feature? It should send out something similar to the Bat Signal, along with a chorus of sirens – in case it’s buried in the hamper or lost under the couch. Or in the freezer.

I’ve been late for meetings because I can’t find my shoes. Panicked in parking lots because I don’t remember where I’m parked. And I’ve been locked out of online accounts because I lost my password. Yes, I wrote my logins down. Somewhere.

When the kids were still home, being a loser was manageable. Having my own personal, search team was very convenient. “Help Mommy find her glasses. Go look in the toybox for my wallet. Has anybody seen the cat?”

Recently, I saw an ad for a spa that read, “Lose yourself.” I can do that without a spa. My inner GPS is broken, and I have no sense of direction. I’ve been lost in hospital corridors, on well-marked hiking trails, and most recently, in JCPenney. I searched frantically for an exit, fearing they’d close the store and lock me in. I spotted fellow shopper and grabbed his arm. “How do I get out of here?” I blurted. He shook me loose and said, “I don’t work here.”

My doctor assured me I was fine, but just in case I bought some Gingko Biloba. Studies show it’s good for memory, when taken twice daily. Unfortunately, I can’t take it. Because I can’t remember where I put the bottle. Maybe I should look in the freezer.



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