I must remember to adjust my clocks before turning in tonight. If I forget, my computer will remind me in the morning anyway, so it’s not a big worry. But daylight saving time rekindles another memory for me: the time The Commander lost his shirt.
My husband has no sense of style or colour. He’d happily venture out in public with plaid socks, striped pants, a polka-dotted shirt, and a tie-died hat. He just doesn’t notice. He doesn’t care. He’ll change what he’s wearing if I insist, but not with eagerness or joy. It’s easier for us both if I select something from his closet on his behalf. That way, I’m happy with the selection, and he only gets dressed once. Happiness.
Sometimes I forget. But I get another chance in the morning. I’m usually awake first. It’s nice to have a backup plan. This redundancy frees me from concerns about working this little task into my routine. It rather happens automatically without much thought.
I tend to resist cutting my sleep by an hour. I don’t use an alarm. I drift into daylight saving time slowly. Minimal discomfort. So it’s no surprise that I’m still asleep when The Commander awakens. Compounding the situation, I also forgot to put out a fresh shirt for him the night before.
We both begin our day with a visit to our fitness centre. The Commander takes a change of clothes on hangers, and dresses for exercise. Whoever finishes first puts their gym clothes in the washer with water and soap, but we don’t run the laundry until it contains both sets. Finishing first means that laundry duties are avoided: a tiny reward for not wasting time.
My omission in not selecting a fresh shirt for him was compounded by his failure to notice. He headed to the fitness centre anyway, without a fresh shirt.
He didn’t notice that he was a shirt short until after his shower. He reused his exercise shirt. Not clean. Not fresh. Not happy.
When he arrived home, he told me that someone had taken his shirt. I kidded him. I told him that it wouldn’t make sense to take his shirt. Where could it be worn? He’d see it soon enough. I suggested the possibility that the janitor may have mistaken it for a cleaning rag and threw it in the trash. I picked out a couple of other shirts that were great candidates for discarding as well. (He can’t stand to part with old clothes!) I congratulated him on his good fortune, as I pulled a fresh shirt from his closet.
He grumbled under his breath while he completed the laundry. He seemed upset over losing a shirt he never had.
I decided to end his discomfort. I asked him which shirt disappeared. He thought about it for a while, then quietly asked if I remembered. I giggled, and told him that I’d forgotten to put a shirt out for him. With the mystery of his missing shirt explained by the confluence of two senior moments, his spirits were instantly elevated and he began to laugh. We continued to chuckle off and on throughout the morning.
As we sat in front of the fire with tea and cookies, we commented that remembering his missing shirt would likely amuse us for years to come.
Thought I’d share.
Cheers, PW.
P.S. Mother used to say “Spring ahead. Fall back.” To help her remember which direction to reset the clocks.
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