THE MUFFIN OF DOOM

I stared at the chocolate chip muffin wrapped severely in plastic wrap, which I had just unearthed from the depth of my cavernous backpack. I knew it had been there only a couple of days. I had just picked up the kids from daycare, and as usual, they were as hungry as a pair of hyenas living under Mufasa’s reign. So I tossed  the muffin in the back to appease the howling, while my brain went into free fall. Who had given me this muffin? Where? When? I could distinctly remember a kind maternal voice saying “for your kids” as she handed me the muffin- but could not remember when or where.

Senility. Alzheimer. Ageing. I thought of the shadows of the future wrinkles lying on my face, so clear now in certain lights and moods. Soon, sooner, those wrinkles would leap out, clear for all the world to see. I was losing my memory. My face was wrinkling. I am getting old. I tried to concentrate. Where had I been in the last few days- who had given me the muffin? I reviewed the last two days in my office- both exceptionally dull days, so much that they appeared as grey wide wastelands in my mind’s eye. The weekend? “What did we do over the weekend?” I wondered out loud. The princess, face full muffin crumbs, mumbled “Wal-mart”. But the muffin had not come from Wal-mart. The grim spectre of the future gripped my soul.

Fast-forward 3 hours. It is early evening, and I am walking home in the refreshing stingy spring air from Halifax downtown. My mind is now lubricated with a happy hour “heaven and hell” cocktail. I feel light and bouncy. I am wearing blue sandals, and their juxtaposition with my mint-green toenails gives me enormous pleasure.  The muffin swims once more to the surface of my mind, and I try once again to remember where and when it had been given to me. Without effort, a light switches on, illuminating a room in Dalhousie, the kind maternal prof who handed me a muffin -“for your kids”. Of course.

So maybe I am not getting that old, maybe I just need happy hour cocktails more regularly, to help me remember things? Yes, I must make a note of that.

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