Permanent Brain Damage
So here’s another weird thing: I live two doors down from the post office. Because they don’t deliver mail to Main Street (long story), I have to have a P.O. box and pick up my mail every day.
Sometimes I stop there in the car, on my way home from errands, especially when it’s cold out. I can’t tell you how many of those times I then forget I drove there, and walk the two doors home, only to have my heart stop - uuuhh! - when I realize: MY CAR IS MISSING!
For that split-second, I feel sure it has been stolen, like when I borrowed my mom’s car to go to a wedding on Rhode Island in 1993 and it got stolen overnight from Central Park West and 75th Street.
Never mind that I have lived here now almost seven years; EVERY SINGLE TIME, I think the car was stolen, even though it is sitting there, two doors away, in perfect view of my driveway.
