All of my aging friends talk now and again about slippery memories, and how they forget things they could once bring to the forefront of their minds…and their conversations…without effort. I, too, have experienced moments when I fish hard for a specific word, but after nearly eighty years I reckon my data banks are pretty crowded, so I don’t let it bother me too much. Besides, it isn’t a failure on my part. It’s all because of the Voodoo Lady. You see, she’s trying to put a hex on my life.
If you ever watched the old voodoo movies, you know how it works. The Voodoo Lady steals personal items to decorate a doll that looks…sort of…like the person she is hexing…and then sticks pins in the doll. This causes pain for the hexed. (I know darned good and well that explains the sudden onset of pain in my various extremities from time to time.)
That also explains why I search the house and the garage for items I know I put on the workbench or the island counter top. They simply disappear. It took me quite a while to finally figure it out: the Voodoo Lady has been stealing personal items to use in hexing me. Sometimes she returns the items and I find them in out-of-the-way places like in a dresser drawer or hiding behind the salt shaker in the kitchen.
The Voodoo Lady serves a purpose from time to time. When I can’t find an item, I can just blame it on her and not on my shaky memory.
However, I do wish she hadn’t taken my polarized sunglasses.