Break out the Ginko

I’m having a bit of an issue with my memory lately. I guess you could say I’m just losing it. It’s impossible for me to try and admit that I forget things, but I am getting progressively worse.

Here’s a great example: Last night, I was running late for work at Trat V. Of course, I hit a ton of traffic on the way home from the office. When I walked up to our building let myself in, I looked through my keys and realized that my front door key was missing. It is a huge pain in the ass to not have a front door key. It forces me to have to lug my bags and walk around the building, through the basement door (which I do have a key for) and up three flights of stairs.

This has happened on a few occasions now. It happened the other day when I was hanging out with Gina. It was freezing out and we couldn’t get into the front door of my building… because alas, my key was missing from my key ring.

I’ve spent a good amount of time obsessing about where my front door key would have gone to. I thought about how Brian could have taken it off the key ring to make a copy of it. Why? I don’t know. Then I thought that someone may have stolen it. Which makes absolutely no sense because then they would have our building key, and no way to get into our apartment. Stupid.

This morning, I told Brian about my dilemma.

“Honey, my key to the front door of the building is missing and it is really driving me crazy.”
He looks at me in complete disbelief. I continue, while distracted with baking my chocolate Devil’s Food cake, “Did you take it off my key ring and make a copy for Mike (our neighbor) or something?”

He says to me, “Baby, oh my God.” So, now I get a pit in my stomach. “What?!” I yell. “What happened to the key?!” He slowly walks over to the key rack and grabs my keys. He is now completely amused by this. He plucks out a single golden key and says to me, in the most condescending voice ever, “Honey, do you remember when the building got a new front door over the summer? And we got new keys for it? The key is now gold and not silver.”

I put my hands to my head and had to laugh at myself. He explained to me how we have gone over this at least three times in the past few months. I was shocked! He then made a dramatic attempt to help me remember the key forever. He said to me, “I want you to do this every time you walk into the front foyer.” He drops to his knees and while holding the key in the air he screams, “IT”S A GOLDEN KEY! THE GOLDEN KEY THAT WILL LET ME INTO MY BEAUTIFUL BUILDING!”

I suddenly got a flash of my life as a seventy-year old dealing with Alzheimer’s and my husband finding nifty ways to help me remember things. Dear God! Am I really getting old?