Woman in the Middle

What is it about ice that makes it so forgettable? The fact that I forget it yesterday is all the ice’s fault, I am sure. It can’t be my fault….

I was having a meeting at my house last night. It happens to be the Alumnae Panhellenic group in my area. I went to the store in the afternoon. The main purpose of the trip was to get a bag of ice. It is warm here and I wanted to have plenty.  Ice is the sort of thing you want to pick up on the way out of the store. As a mater of fact the grocery store I frequent has a sign on the ice cooler asking patrons to get the ice last as it melts and drips all over the floor, creating a slipping hazard. I repeated over and over again “ice, ice” as I picked up a few other things. I ran into someone I know and we chatted a bit and as I rolled my cart away from her I said “ice, ice” to myself.

Yet, I managed to get out of the store without ice and didn’t even notice until I got home and was getting out of the car. Maybe if I had written “ICE” in permanent marker on the back of both hands I would have remembered it. Of course, that would have looked really classy at my meeting, but the ladies would have been assured of cold drinks.

Hubby came to the rescue and got a bag of ice for the event. Yet another reason why I married him. He goes and gets the ice when I forget it, yet again.