Mortgaging My Brain

I have written previously that lab rats have proven, scientifically, and with the help of scientists, that females loose brain cells by the litter.  See:  Make Self Smartness  
I am pleased to announce (“Thank you, thank you, no need for applause!”) I have now fallen to a new low in brain cell output. I have forgotten my name. No, not a password, or a nickname or even the obscure inane thing my brother called me when he was two, but my real, honest to goodness, name. Heaven help me!

Last weekend while shopping at my daughter’s school yard sale I picked up what I thought was a fabulous find, the seat cushion for a stroller.  

Perhaps you are thinking, “What an odd duck.” And if you are, you would be particularly tickled to know that at 19 I brought home a rusted, holey wheelbarrow, which I had the odd notion of “sprucing up” to carry props for street theatre, props, which would inevitably include a rubber chicken. True, while chickens are in no way water fowl, they are of course, birds, which should precisely prove my point.  Ducks do not have large brains and should not, under any circumstances, be used in laboratory studies.

Back to the cushion: You see, while my wheelbarrow was merely misguided optimism, the cushion had a very real purpose: to cover the peeling seat of our second hand double stroller, which I love dearly, though not as much as chocolate, or ice cream.  An ordinary person would perhaps have questioned the fact that the cushion appeared to be stroller less, cast adrift on the stormy seas of life to make its wheel free way in the world alone, but I was happy in my fortune and quickly scurried to the check out before anyone else with a peeling stroller seat could catch wind of my find.  

Alas, it was not to be. The bright eyed lady behind the counter quickly pointed out, “Are you taking the stroller too?”
     
“Oh,” I said, “I didn’t see a stroller.”  

She looked at me oddly, with pity in her eyes. I bet she could tell that my eyes weren’t fully open under the glare of the florescent lights. “If the stroller doesn’t sell, do you want me to take your name and we’ll sell you the cushion?”

Bewildered, I nodded.
“So,” she said, “what’s your name?”

“Say something!” said my brain to my mouth.
“What do you mean, ‘something’” said my mouth, “You’re the smart one. I just move the muscles.”
“Then stall, stall for time.”
“What? I don’t know how! What do you want me to do? Dance? What’s wrong with you?”
“I don’t know!” came the frantic reply, “I just can’t seem to remember anything! Keep her distracted while I shut down and reboot.”

This is why I stared blankly in her direction, “Um, just a second.”

She started to laugh, “You can’t remember you name?”

“No, I can, I can … its Cara.”

“Wait a sec,” she said, “are you the lady with the twins?”

“Uh, huh.”

“And are those your other two yours as well.”

“Yes,” I said vaguely.

“Well, no wonder you can’t remember your name.”

Rats, you can be assured of your usefulness. She, obviously, read that study too.

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