Forget It

I was at Costco, checking off the items on my shopping list, when I remembered we needed eggs. I imagined the route I’d take to the giant cooler where the eggs are stored and started walking. I’d walked only a few steps when I saw a jar of raspberry preserves. I placed it in my cart imagining it spread lightly on my toast, the memory of a sweet crunch of goodness lingered on my tongue. I love jam. 

Costco is a warehouse store with miles of aisles, bulk goods stacked to the ceiling, and an occasional sparrow checking out the inventory.  
I reached the end of the aisle and turned left toward the. . . 
I couldn’t remember.  
I continued walking growing more anxious with each step. It wasn’t on my shopping list since the item was recently remembered. Thanks to the raspberry preserves and my short term memory it was gone. I took a few more steps and stopped. I searched my mind and found the bills I was supposed to mail sitting on the kitchen table. I found my coffee brewed but forgotten, and I remembered where I’d left the book I’m currently reading, but nothing suitable for a shopping list. I was ready to give up—and then I saw the giant cooler at the end of the aisle—and kaboom the eggs were back.

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