No Room at the Inn

My poor wife has been worried about her uncommon forgetfulness. I showed an initial level of support trying to convince her that she has been under an incredible amount of stress and responsibility which is impairing her mental faculties indefnitely. When she refused to believe me, she irrationally convinced herself she was suffering from early onset dementia. I could no longer get her to think in any other terms so I joined her worry wart program.

When she addressed me, I would say, “Why did you just call me by your first husband’s name? I began to prey upon her insecurities even more by asking her if she remembered fake memories from our past. Out of the blue, I would say we just talked about that yesterday. My torment about her forgetfulness peaked at a Christmas party, when repetitive bombardments in a family atmosphere had her ready for nursing home admission.

After the party, I felt a pinch guilty about my ornery behavior on my way back to my car. As I got in the car, a strange feeling swept over me. My leather seats were warm. I had just walked through frigid outdoor temperatures but the cabin operated at a comfortable 73 degrees. The dashboard was all lit up. I noticed that I had half of a tank of gas less than I remembered. Then it dawned on me. I forgot to turn off my car. I had left the car engine running for the last three and a half hours….the whole time I tortured my wife at the party..about her forgetfulness.