What Day Is It Again?

I was warned by many of my retired friends and clients that once I was retired I would soon start forgetting what day it was. I always scoffed at such suggestions since I have always been very attuned to the calendar and the schedule that goes along with it. But then…this week happened. There were two incidents to report. The first one happened Thursday evening, the second, forty minutes ago.

A couple weeks ago, the pastor in charge of high schoolers at my church (saints preserve him) texted me to ask if I would be willing to speak to a group of 25-30 high school seniors on the subject of finance/budgeting etc. It’s a part of a year long special program for graduating seniors. Although it’s been a while since I taught a gaggle of teenagers, I jumped at the chance and marked the event on my calendar. This past Thursday night, after making a delicious dinner for my wife the two of us were lounging on the couch when my watch buzzed with a text from the aforementioned pastor—“Hey Doug! Just checking in to see if there is anything you need for tonight.”

For a second I thought the text was meant for someone else. But then a tightness in my stomach made its presence felt, along with a gurgling of acid in my esophagus. I bolted up from the sofa and hustled into the library, grabbed my calendar and was relieved to see that my session with the kids was for Thursday the 27th. But then I thought to double check his original text and there saw to my dismay that no…I was due to speak to a room full of teenagers in exactly 25 minutes. Lucky for me I had prepared my remarks ahead of time. All I had to do was put appropriate clothes on. “I’ll be there in 20 minutes,” I texted him back. Pam later suspected that the entire stunt was a deliberate ploy to get out of cleaning up the kitchen. But no, the scheduling error was all me. The good news is that the talk went quite well. Great group of kids and I enjoyed myself.

That brings us to this morning. After my morning routines were completed and Pam had come downstairs, I excused myself, informing my wife that I was going to hop in the shower. I did so. There I was standing in front of the little mirror I have attached to the shower wall, performing my twice weekly shaving protocol when it occurred to me that my beard wasn’t quite as robust as it normally is when I shave each Wednesday and Sunday morning. Odd…I thought. Then another odd thought popped into my head—“This was maybe the fastest weekend ever…seems like only yesterday it was Friday” 

Then, it hit me. Today wasn’t Sunday at all. Why the heck was I in the shower on a Saturday morning, when all I was going to do is get filthy working in the yard all morning? So, here I am, ridiculously and needlessly clean, freshly shaved for absolutely no reason and coming to terms with my second calendar mishap in less than 3 days. So, if you’re looking for me, I’ll be the cleanest, freshest smelling, perfectly coifed yard worker in all of Wythe Trace.