Remembering What I Forgot

I thought of something really ranty to blog about earlier, and now I’ve forgotten what the hell it was. Not unusual for me lately. My head is full of to-do, so inconsequential things seem to feel they have no business being in my head for long. Things like switching on the slow cooker. I mean, feeding everyone isn’t that important, right? Going to the toilet—sod that for a laugh, my brain says, you can wait, Mr Poo! Forgetting your age—hey, what’s the problem with thinking you’re two years younger? Going for a bath and washing your greasy, looks-like-a-tramp’s hair—it’s good to stink once in a while. Makes you grateful you have running water and soap to wash with.

You get the picture.

Still, although my mind isn’t doing what it should in some areas, it is in others. I’m wondering, as I age, whether it’s just working that little bit slower when it comes to certain things. Do we feel that what was once imperative no longer is when we get older? I think so. At least I hope that’s what’s going on with me; otherwise, I’m in for a whole heap of trouble as the years roll by. I’ll be the old granny who pisses her pants because she forgot to visit the bathroom and then forgets to bathe afterwards, beige polyester trousers stinking of piddle and stiff as a board.

My catchphrase of the moment is: “Oh, crap! I forgot!” Family members are taking this well. I’m worried, though, that they’re going to start guiding me by the elbow to the thing I was meant to do and explaining in a slow monotone: “Mum, thiiiis iiiiis the toy-let. You sit on iiiit to peeee. Please sit on iiiit now. Noooo, you need to pull your pants down fiiiirst. Thaaaat’s it…”

A sobering thought.

And shit, here I am now, STILL trying to think of my original blog post. I bet it comes to me later, and then I’ll forget to write it down for tomorrow…

*whatisitwhatisitwhatisit?*

Nope, nothing. Absolutely sod all in my head except an ache.

Ah, my God, she’s got it! I’ll tell you how I remembered. You’ve got to love mind mapping and word association. After writing above that I forget to go to the toilet, and because I couldn’t bear to try and recall my rant any longer, I actually went to the toilet. While sitting there, as you do, I thought of my granddad and what he used to say when he went to the loo: “I’m going for a think.” And it works, you know. You do think. Granted, half the time I’m thinking, “I wish this wasn’t so much like giving birth!” but that’s another post altogether.

My rant came to mind, and it is this:

We only have one bathroom. Whenever I go to have a bath, someone ALWAYS wants a poo. Okay, they’ve gone from wanting one when I’m actually IN the bath to asking, “Who’s running a bath?”

“Me,” I say in a scary voice, knowing damn well what’s coming next.

“Oh, can I just quickly have a poo?”

How you can know whether your poo is going to be a quick one I don’t bloody know—we all know that’s a dicey thing to judge, don’t we?—but it never fails to amaze me how often this happens.

Before running the bath, I tend to ask if anyone needs the bathroom—years of my soak being interrupted by kids has taught me that—and everyone says, “No, no. We don’t need the loo.”

Well, they do. Something in their brains likes to lull me into a false sense of security, that I’ll have a bath with only the aroma of bubbles and soap. And then, BAM! The devil kicks in and decides I must have other aromas as well.

It. Really. Bugs. Me.

If I was a mean person, I’d ignore them, get in the bath, stay there for over an hour, and just let them shit themselves, but I can’t bring myself to do that.

No, I can’t.

Can I?

*evil laughter*