Do You Have O.C.F?

[Laurie, Fudge, and Vern]

Recently, I have diagnosed myself with a disorder called Obsessive Compulsive Forgetfulness.  This is a condition that occurs in many women around menopause age and people with this disorder have unwanted and recurring thoughts that compel them to search out things daily that they have misplaced.  Every day, I spend at least one hour searching for my car keys, my cell phone, our house phone, my glasses, or my purse. Apparently, there is no cure for this disorder because I have tried many solutions and nothing works.  People have suggested a bowl by the door or a hanging hook to drop these items in as I come in the door, but I can’t seem to remember to do this simple act. John suggested a large strap that goes around my neck that I can hang all these items off of and when I said, "that sounds like something that might make me trip and fall," he just shrugged his shoulders and said at least I would know where my phone was to call for help.  I  have found my keys in my husband’s car, on the couch, on top of a piece of furniture, on top of our van, in pockets, and once, John had to drive all the way home from work to give me his spare keys because I was convinced he was behind some nefarious plot to drive me insane by stealing my keys.  Days later, I found the original set in my bathrobe and since I don’t ever drive around town in my robe, I can’t explain how they ended up there.   There seems to be no rhyme or reason as to how I decide what location to drop my stuff at upon entering the house and therefore, I am convinced not even Sherlock Holmes could figure out how my brain works and track my activities.

 

Sometimes, if there is no trashcan at the park, I put the dog’s used poop bags under my windshield wiper in the front of my car until we get home and I can dispose of them in our garbage can.  This would be a super system IF I remembered the trashcan part when we got home. It can be a hit or miss situation and once I drove around for two whole days with poop bags on the roof of my van, because I must have removed them from under the windshield wiper and decided to put them on the roof of the car for reasons known only to God and forgot about them.  We even took a day trip to Gettysburg with those two poop bags on the roof of my car and I am sure they would still be up there if I had not had to look for my keys one day and checked the top of my van.  

 

Don’t even get me started on poop bags. I try to remember to keep them in my van, but then on a walk, I put them in my pocket and sure enough, forget to take them out and next walk, they are no longer in the car.  Usually, this requires a trip back home for the bags or a hunt through my car for something else to use.  The other day, I got to the park in the pouring down rain only to discover I only had one poop bag.  I immediately instructed Fudge and Vern that only one of them could do their business on our walk, but realized later when Fudge pooped twice that I should have been more explicit in my instructions.  Luckily, I had a grocery bag in the car.  I even found poop bags in my camera bag on the cruise and was glad no one needed them while we were cruising. 

The fights that ensue over my forgetfulness are not fun, either.  Somehow, this disorder also causes you to blame those around you for your forgetfulness. It causes you to be belligerent and righteous in declaring your innocence…”I put my purse right here.  Someone moved my purse.  WHO MOVED MY PURSE?”  Even if the purse is discovered hanging around my neck, I am still convinced someone else put it there.  It is never my fault and that speaks to the severity of this disorder, because normally I am willing to admit when I am wrong.  Oh, and God help the person who tries to take advantage of my forgetfulness by blaming his own mistakes on me. Nothing makes my blood boil more than to pull up somewhere and have John turn to me and say, “did you remember to bring such and such?”   First of all, who assigned me the job of remembering everything and secondly, I am afraid while I am looking around for “the such and such,” I will forget to hit him over the head and say, “next time, bring it yourself.”

Well, luckily, I think I have come up with the solution. I am going to hire a manservant to follow me around and watch where I put my things.   I am not sure that is the politically correct way to state what I am looking for, so I want to be very clear, a male assistant and by male, I mean a hunk. 

I don’t want Mr. Belvedere, Mr. French, Niles, Tattoo, Lurch, or Max from the show, Hart to Hart.  Nope, if I have to say all day long, “Can you find my car keys? Did you see where I put my phone? Are my glasses on top of my head?” I want to have some nice looking, non-judgmental man hand it to me and say, “it was my pleasure locating it for you.” Now, I know many of you are saying, “well, aren’t you happily married to a hunk?” and the answer is yes, but he is often times not as enthusiastic and helpful as I would like when I tell him we will be delayed leaving the house until I find whatever it is I have misplaced. 

Furthermore, his comments like “why can’t you remember where you put stuff?” or “where was the last place you had it?” seems to bring out the worst in me and I don’t think yelling, “Gee, I wonder if those were the last questions Jimmy Hoffa asked his wife before he disappeared?” is good for our marriage. 

I am thinking this could be the answer to all my prayers. The amount of time I could save in one day would be staggering and eventually as my hunky assistant became more efficient, I could add additional responsibilities to his duties.  On the cruise, I got a terrible sunburn that still itches and have had to have John rub lotion on my back at night for relief.   The other night, as he was rubbing and I was issuing my commands….”Lower, lower, faster, faster, over to the right, over to the left, there’s the spot, keep rubbing, don’t stop,” I think he started to get the wrong idea because he said, “I think I might need some lotion, too.”  All this could be avoided if I just hire the right guy.

[Laurie, Fudge, and Vern]

Joanne, Oh boy...you have O.C.F., too! I hope you figure out where your calendars went. LOL

Linda, Thanks! I do think I am on to something with this manservant thing :)

Dori, I like your name, too, for this disorder. LOL  Bring him on the cruise with you :)

[Dori & Rua]

Oh Laurie. I feel your pain. I call my disorder CRS...can't remember s#*t!

Hmmmmm, I am thinking I am going to find me one of those manservants. :)

[Linda, Webber and Seda]

OMD this was so funny.  This loosing things is the story of my life.  I REALLY like the idea of a hunk to help me keep up with my things--or something.  "it was my pleasure locating it for you"...now, that would be heavenly.

[Donna K & Quincy]

Oh dear Joanne, you seem to be suffering from a very advanced case of OCF or AAMDD.

[Joanne ~ Spud*]

Where are my Calenders? Where are my Calenders? Maybe they will come today. Where are my Calenders?

So, I was called away twice and never finished my order, I suppose! I have NO order on file but I know I was there-a lot.
Can you believe that one????

[Laurie, Fudge, and Vern]

F, Well, this time you disappointed me :)

[F, Calla & Luca]

I am always delighted that you know me so well : )

[Laurie, Fudge, and Vern]

F, I was sure you would comment on that line. I never thought my own daughter would be a rat fink :) LOL

Jane, Blame it on O.C.F....you forgot how to spell Karma :)

[Jane, Guinness and Murphy]

It would be great if I could actually spell Karma correctly.....but yes, Laurie, we've got to do whatever it takes!

[F, Calla & Luca]

I love fact checkers, even those with the wrong kind of dogs :-)