That's what we say to each other a lot these days: "We are so screwed." Because we're both going senile, but in different ways (so they're all covered, you know) and we're losing our health.
Bill can't work the remotes for the TV and I have to do it all for him and he will mess it up and I'll have to fix it for him. I lose stuff all the time now and literally, within seconds, forget important things and friends. I have that face recognition problem(I read about it in People magazine and instantly diagnosed myself) where people with similar features look the same to me and that's disconcerting. I've been faking it a lot, I tell you, a lot.
The other day at Wal-Mart, I saw a woman I recognized and said "hello." And she greeted me in return. And it bugged me to death because I had no clue who she was or how I knew her. Finally, I went up to her and asked her and she laughed and said, "I was thinking the same thing."
It bugged both of us (she looked about 15 years older than I, but really really hot for an old broad) and we stood there for five minutes trying to figure it out.
Yesterday, while dusting, I found a $20 bill I'd stuck under a doily. I have no idea why I did that or where the money came from. Now THAT is senility because we are not rich and I so wouldn't lose track of $20 in my right mind.
Last night Bill and I were watching The Waitress (a really sweet show) together and I was thinking about all the pies and I said, "You know, maybe I should make the pies from scratch this year. Pecan would be nice. I haven't made a scratch pie in years."
And he looked at me and asked, "You used to make scratch pies?"
I sat up and stared at him in amazement because my crust is really a thing of wonder and he loved my pies! I just stared at him, didn't say a word. And he said, "well I know you make the crust, I meant the filling."
And I can't tell you how relieved I was. Because I don't know who's going to take care of us. Although I have a death wish, I would so worry about him if I die first because I wouldn't want anybody to be mean to him. I can see that happening.
I know if I out-live him and become old, nobody will still mess with me. Hell, I'll hide some pepper spray somewhere. Might forget where I put it, but I would so not tolerate mistreatment. I can see my poor sweet befuddled husband just being bullied all over the place.
These are the things one thinks about just before retirement.