The Forgettable Day

It all started at breakfast time this morning. After sliding out of bed, waking the children up, having a shower, brushing my teeth, getting dressed, feeding the cats – who were trying to trip me up at every turn – and feeding the fish, I found myself standing in the middle of the kitchen trying to decide what to do next.

By now Miss 14 had arrived downstairs, and confidently informed me that both she and her younger sister would be eating school lunches today. Great, I thought – two less lunches to make. I made Miss 17 a gluten free roll filled with ham and american mustard, wrapped it up, and handed it to her.

Twenty minutes later, after the children had all departed for school, my other half shouted from the kitchen.

“OH NO! She forgot her lunch!”

“No she didn’t. I made her a roll.”

“But I made her pasta salad last night – and you – you saw me making it!”

I re-wound everything in my head. She was right. I had even washed the pots up before heading to bed. Crap.

My other half handed me my lunch – a tupperware tub also filled with pasta salad. I put it in my lunch bag, and set off for work a few minutes later – locking the house behind me.

Here’s the thing – at some point during the morning I obviously got the idea in my head that we had no bread in the house, so myself and my other half would have to buy something for lunch. It’s rare, but it happens. So even though I had just put lunch in my work backpack, by the time I got the bike out and began cycling down the road, I had forgotten all about it.

I remembered the food my other half made me as I left the supermarket in the high street, having just bought a filled baguette, a drink, and a chocolate bar. I think I actually said “oh crap” out loud – I have no idea what passers must have thought of the strange man talking to himself outside the supermarket.

At some point mid-morning in the office an email went round – titled “Don’t forget we’re all going out for lunch to the pub today!”. I looked at the ceiling, and once again said “AH CRAP!” – even louder this time. So far I had two lunches in my bag, and was about to go to a third lunch.

After returning from the pub after lunch, I checked my email, and saw that Google had replied about the helpdesk call regarding my other half’s Google Drive account (the 170 gigabyte backup disaster). Dammit – they wanted screenshots. I got on my bike and raced home, taking my work computer with me so I could carry on at home.

Twenty minutes later – rather rubber legged after fighing against the wind all the way – I arrived at the back door of our house, and searched my pockets for the house keys – the house keys I vaguely remembered putting down on my desk at work earlier in the day. There was nothing else for it.

Fifteen minutes later my other half peered from the window of the infant school where she works, and said to one of her co-workers “that looks like my husband cycling towards the school!? Hang on a minute – that IS my husband cycling towards the school.”

She could barely disguise her laughter as I stood at the hatch where all the parents usually stand, asking if I could borrow her house keys.

Fifteen minutes later I arrived home. Let’s try and forget about all of it.

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