Our friend Megan Peters has chickens and sells delicious eggs. She lives in Quincy. I was dispatched there last summer and left the egg cartons at her husband's parent's house - they live a block up the street.
This morning as we are leaving, Sheryl says, "We need to leave these cartons so we can get eggs from Megan." I said, "I don't remember where she lives." Sheryl said, "We will just have to find it."
We didn't find it, I couldn't remember which house it was. We gave up and headed to the store. My long-suffering wife says, "I am not mad at you. You are horrible at directions. Don't beat yourself up over it."Turns out her house is a block from her in-laws. Sigh ....
I am completely clueless when it comes to remembering stuff like this. Last summer when I went to Wisconsin for Gus Macker, I took a wrong turn on the way home and nearly ended up in Minnesota. At least I do have the sense to know when I'm lost. The panic starts rising and the cursing reaches deafening levels. Then I turn around, retrace my steps, backtrack, look for a map and find my way home.
Kinda the story of my life, if you think about it.
Don't worry, Megan. We are coming for the eggs. I will get your address and I won't screw it up again, promise.
What street do you live on, again?
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