Tattoo it on my forehead

If you needed any more proof, I am NOT an elephant. I forget things. A lot. I forget things LIKE ITS MY JOB. If only I could get paid to forget things.

This morning, I got out of bed early to make my way into the gym for a workout. As per usual, I had laid all the kids' clothes and socks and shoes out, gotten my work clothes ready, etc. I got ready in my gym clothes, grabbed my bag with toiletries, work shoes, et al., drove to the gym, got to my locker, and ONLY THEN did I realize that I had left my hanger of work clothes AT HOME ON THE COUCH.

So, I got back in my car, drove home, showered and got ready, dropped the kids off, headed into work, and resigned myself to working out later in the day. I had a work meeting at lunch, so I knew the lunch workout wasn't going to happen. But, I made an agreement with Ben that he would pick the kids up after work, and thus leave me with the ability to go to the gym at that time. Not my favorite time to work out, but it'll do.

Fast forward to after work. I head to the gym, change into my gym clothes, and THEN realize that in my frenzy of the morning, after getting ready and re-packing my workout clothes, I had neglected to pack up my athletic shoes. My footwear options were 3-inch peep-toe wedges, or the flip-flops that I bring to wear in the gym shower.

I sheepishly called Ben, explained my dilemma, and told him I was on my way home after all. Thankfully, it is a beautiful evening, so upon arriving home and putting on my running shoes, I went for a nice two-mile run around the neighborhood. Maybe not as good as a "real" workout, but better than nothing. Perhaps I'll lift some light weights tonight while watching tv.

So, the moral is, if you want me to remember something, you'll have to do something drastic.