Forgetful

The other day my brother called me. "Hey, did you remember that we're coming to stay at your house on Tuesday?"

"No. Have we talked about this before?"

"Yeah, a couple of times."

"Oh, okay. I totally forgot, but that's cool. What are you doing in town again?"

"It's for the U2 concert."

"Oh yeah, that's right. And we've talked about this before? I totally don't remember talking about this." (You have to understand that my brothers were notorious for lying to me when I was a kid, so sometimes I am very distrustful of them. You would be too if you believed for quite some time that the Chase Building in downtown Dallas was the place where pilots were trained, and before they could get their license they had to fly a plane through the hole in the Chase building. [Editor's note: My brother was not the one who told me this lie, but he certainly allowed me to believe it for quite some time.])

"Yeah, we've talked about this before. A couple of times."

"Huh. Well, it's a good thing you reminded me."

"Yeah, I bet you guys wouldn't like us showing up at your house at 1 a.m."

"No, probably not. You know, the funny thing is that just the other day I remembered that the U2 concert was probably coming up pretty soon, and I wondered if you guys were going to need a place to stay."

And then the conversation meandered to other paths.

I've come to the conclusion that if you have told me anything in the last five and a half months, I probably don't remember it. I'm sorry. We're all sleeping through the night now though, so my memory is back to its old self.

Maybe.