Selective Memory Disorder

Most every husband out there has one thing in common. No, not that. While the female in our society has evolved into a beautiful, sensitive, thinking human being, able to remember just about everything, her male counterpart has somehow de-evolved. Over the years we have become lumbering, uncouth Neanderthals that have developed the unique ability to forget just about anything at any given time. No matter how important the event - soccer games, birthdays, or anniversaries - you name it, there’s a Neanderthal out there that’s forgotten it.

The Wife, as smart as she is, was well aware of this trait in the male species and was prepared long before she met me. That’s why she had our wedding date etched into our wedding rings. I never have taken it off since we got married, and for good reason. I’m afraid I’d forget where I put it down.

But fear not, fellow Neanderthals. Forgetting stuff is not the early sign of Alzheimer’s - at least not in my case. The ability to forget stuff - really important stuff - is a condition that I’d like to call SMD, selective memory disorder.

And take it from this Neanderthal: I’m the poster child for SMD. Just ask The Wife, I’m about as forgetful and disorderly as they come.

As far back as I can remember – no pun intended – I’ve had trouble remembering things. For example, when Twin Brother Mark and I turned five Dad bought us a goldfish for our room. Mom wanted a puppy, but Dad said no and as it turned out, for good reason.

A month passed by and everything went well for Guppy. The gold and black-speckled fish got bigger and lived a happy life. Well, as happy as a fish in a bowl on top of a dresser could be. Then SMD struck.

I forgot to feed Guppy. Forgetting to feed him for one day wasn’t bad, but forgetting to feed him for an entire week was. Should’ve known something was fishy when Guppy started to swim on his back and then floated to the top of the fish bowl. But in my defense, at age five, what did I know about the care of goldfish? Just glad Dad didn’t buy us that puppy. Guppy had a nice funeral, though. Then Mark flushed him down the commode.

SMD is a very strange disorder that seems to come and go at will. Why us men folk can remember when eight different football games are scheduled on TV along with the statistics of all the players, but can’t remember we were supposed to pick up milk at the grocery store, or put down the toilet seat, is truly one of the world’s unsolved mysteries.

We can’t remember our children’s birthdays, but somehow the fact that every Wednesday is trash day is forever etched into our memory banks. And the worst part of SMD is that it can strike at any moment.

Ever go to the grocery store and buy $50 worth of groceries, returning home just to find out that you bought everything but the one item you went to the store to buy in the first place? Have you ever looked for a tool, couldn’t find it, taken a trip to the big hardware store with the orange roof, bought a new one, and then put it away only to forget where you stored it? Yeah, me too. During our move I found I was the proud owner of nine utility knives!

But a word of warning to all Neanderthals out there: when The Wife wanders seemingly aimlessly up and down the aisles of Target she is not suffering from SMD. On the contrary - she is shopping.

Any comments to her about SMD will result in a quick and sharp elbow to your ribs. But if you insist on rushing her, here’s something I have found to be quite helpful. Stand on her left side. That way, her lightning quick elbow won’t hurt nearly as bad.

The Wife, she still puts up with me even though I suffer with SMD. Why, I don’t know. She probably told me once and I’ve forgotten. Sometimes I think she just keeps me around to retrieve things from high shelves. But I’m okay with that. I told the builder to install a lot of high shelving in our new house. I may be a Neanderthal, but I’m not stupid.