A Lucy Moment

I was putting the ice cream into the pantry, after serving myself a bowl, when I came to my senses. A pantry isn't the proper place to store frozen goods, I know, and I quickly checked the room to see if anyone was watching.

That was a sitcom moment. You know, like a scene from "I Love Lucy," or "Three's Company." Something so silly, that it would generate a huge laugh from the studio audience.

Everyone has them. The other day Dad baked a pizza for me to have when I got home for lunch. When I cut into the pizza, I noticed he had left the cardboard circle on the pizza. As Homer Simpson would say, "Mmmm, doughy." Fortunately, I didn't cut all the way through the cardboard, or we would have had a true sitcom moment when I tried to chew through the paper.

Some people call these senior moments, but I'm not a senior yet. But I think I have figured out the cause. (Hang on! There's not much transition here!)

When I was 18 (back when the legal drinking age was 18, natch) and up until I hit my 30s, it wasn't uncommon that on my days off I would start drinking at 10 or 11 am. I could drink all day, well into the night, and wouldn't have too much of a hangover. Nothing aspirin and an Bacon, Egg and Cheese biscuit from McDonalds, or a breakfast croissant from Jack in the Box, couldn't handle, anyway. Today, of course, my system has lost its resiliency, and if I start drinking too early (say before 4 or 5 pm), I'll be queasy the entire next day, no matter how much fast food I consume.

This happened Saturday. I raked the front yard in the morning, and by 1 pm, I figured Ideserved a beer. I had purchased a case of beer the day before to last me through the weekend. By 11 pm, I had all but finished the case and went to bed. ("24 hours in a day, 24 beers in a case. Coincidence?" --Stephen Wright) Lord, was I nauseous all day Sunday. I spent the entire day in my recliner, sleeping it off. By 8 pm, I was feeling much better, thank you. On Monday, I put the ice cream in the pantry.

I understand the sitcom moment, now! It's the beer.

See, alcohol destroys brain cells. ("Alright brain, I don't like you and you don't like me, so just get me through this so I can go back to killing you slowly with beer." --Homer Simpson) Memories are stored in the brain cells. Therefore, it was all the beer I've ever had that caused me to forget that ice cream belongs in the freezer, and leaves me scratching my head as I stand in front of a closet wondering what the heck I was looking for.