I can remember any date or number you can imagine . . . except my age.
By Stephanie Garber
Unlike my mother, who learned it from her own mother, I do not hold true to the belief that a lady never tells her age or weight. I am as open about my age as I am about my favorite brand of laundry soap. (I guard the amount of my poundage like a national secret in a manner that would make Condeleeza Rice proud, however.) But, I stopped in mid-answer, because it occurred to suddenly that I couldn’t remember my own age. Early forties -- but was it closer to 41 or 43? I literally had to stop and do the math.
Now, I can rattle off my kids’ birth dates and ages with ease. I know my husband’s birth date, my parents’, and all my sibs’. I never forget my anniversary (and neither does my husband, as I remind him prior to it on an annual basis). I keep track of everyones’ doctor and dental appointments, school schedules, and my own work schedules because I am the sole member of the family who juggles all of the above to ensure that there are no conflicts.
I stared blankly at my coworker with my mouth, I am sure, at half-mast. I have never been anything like a math maven, but I could not perform a simple mental calculation subtracting the year I was born from the one in which I am now existing. Surely I was too young for Alzheimer’s? (Or was I? I didn’t even know how old I was!) Had I suffered a blow to the head recently? Did I have a latent form of dyslexia?
But suddenly it occurred to me: There are just too many numbers in my life. I am literally suffering from numerical overdose. I have a home phone, cell phone and two work phone numbers. (We won’t even count kids’ cells, hubby’s cells and friends’ and relatives’ home and cell numbers.)
My home phone, cell phone and one work phone have code numbers to access the voice mail messages. (The other work phone does too, but since I don’t have a personal line, I am perfectly content to let others access the messages.) I have a home computer and one workplace computer that require login names and passwords; the other workplace has a number of computers that have various login names and passwords necessary to turn them on in the morning. Both places of work require numerical codes -- one to enter as a security measure, the other to set the alarm when closing. And there is another number to open the security system to get into my own home.
I have two bank accounts with debit cards, each requiring a security code to pay with them. To access my accounts online, there are other codes I need to remember. Because I purchase things over the Internet, I have a payment system online that requires yet another code. And, the places where I purchase, such as Amazon and Ebay, require user names and passwords to access my online accounts before I can even make my selections.
In addition, I have to remember where I am and who I’m speaking to when I give out information. In social situation I give out one e-mail address, at work it’s another. I have a home address to give people who want to visit, which differs from my mailing address for friends who want to write. That, of course, differs from the address I give out at work to people who need to send work-related documents.
On the same day as the infamous birthday amnesia, I stopped at the grocery store to pick up a few items. The clerk rang up my purchases and I handed her a debit card. I punched in a number and it was rejected. Oops, I realized I had punched in the number for my other debit card (which I could not find) but could not, for the life of me, remember the security number for the one she was holding. Hoping I had enough enough greenbacks in my wallet (because who carries cash these days?) I asked for my useless card back.
So how old will I be this year? My goodness, a lady never gives out her age or weight. And now I see, for good reason.
© 2004 Traveler Publications
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