Forget Me Nots

I just came home from the doctor. Walking through the door, I set down my pamphlets about memory loss. My doctor told me it's important, so hopefully I'll remember. As I reached the door, I pulled out my keys and tried to remember which one would unlock my house. Here's a prescription, take it twice a day. The last verse of a song cut off as I turned off the engine. Remember, take it with a full glass of water. Pulling into the driveway, I recalled the pharmacist.

"Current address?"

Staring at her forehead, as if the answer would be written there between the lines, I shook my head.

"Ma'am?"

"Mm?"

"May I verify your address?"

Five--no four, three blind mice. "433 Blue Orchid Street"

I entered the pharmacy, piece of paper in hand. Thank goodness for little papers. Before I began to forget to buy them, I'd keep a pack of sticky notes with me at all times. Before then, sometimes I'd forget to even right things down before I forgot them. Walking out of the doctor's office, I swore to myself I wouldn't forget the instructions, my doctor had said they were important.

Dropping my keys on my desk, I remembered that I had forgotten, whatever it was.