What Whippersnappers Reap from Our Growing Forgetfulness

If you've ever felt a twinge of guilt at the thought of passing on the mounting national debt to generation X-er's to pay off, don't. Because, as I see it, it will all balance out as the younger generation inherits all of the riches we increasingly forgetful Baby Boomers leave behind.

For example, last week my husband came home from Sam's Club and said he had purchased a movie for us to watch that night but that, unfortunately, the movie did not make it all the way home.

"It's probably still in the shopping cart," he said, shrugging.

I don't know exactly when leaving stuff behind became a daily non-event.

"I'll call the store and see if anyone has turned it in," I said nonplused.

In our 20's, leaving behind a DVD would have been just cause for three-day psychiatric evaluation. Now it's as common an occurrence as setting my open purse in a public restroom sink while I fix my hair and having it fill up with water because I'm still not used to the automatic faucets.

"What was the name of the movie?" I asked as I dialed the phone.

"I don't remember," my husband said, "but it was about a submarine."

Whenever I call a store to see if an item my husband or I just purchased and disappeared on the way home has by some small chance not been snatched up by an agile younger person with keen eyesight and quick reflexes, I pray that an older person answers the phone, because they've probably misplaced their car keys at least twice that day and at that very moment are searching frantically for their eyeglasses which are probably perched on top of their head and will make it their personal goal in life to find your errant item.

Not this time. The girl-with-a-high-school-sized voice answered the phone.

"Nope, nothin' was turned in," she chirped.

Well of course it wasn't turned in you little whipper snapper. Nothing is ever turned in. THAT'S WHY YOU HAVE TO GET OUT THERE AND GET IT BEFORE A YOUNG PERSON LIKE YOU SEES IT!!!!

Although you can't really blame the younger generation for taking full advantage of our growing forgetfulness. Many of them have not been inundated every Sunday with God-fearing stories of fire and brimstone that most of us Boomers were, that to this day send us scurrying up to security officers with found wallets or down to police stations with bulging bank deposit bags found along side the road. I even once returned a $50 bill that I found under a highball glass years ago working as a cocktail waitress. No burning in hell for eternity for me, thank you.

Some of the more notable possessions that I have recently orphaned include: my dog's tennis ball thrower left down by the river in some tall grass; a pair of diamond earrings on a bedside table in a hotel room; a $20 bill at the grocery store self check out counter; and two photo albums full of pictures of my trip to Alaska left in a shopping cart in the parking lot where I work.

Other loot that has wandered off in the not so distant past: a clock radio/noise machine (hotel room), a sweatshirt (airplane), a book (airplane,) a rain parka (I have no idea), and an airplane ticket (the women's washroom at the Denver airport). Now I know why God stopped letting us have children after a certain age. My mother left her fourth one behind at a grocery store once and she was only 28.

As you can see, the daily trove of forgotten treasures us Baby Boomers absent-mindedly bequeath to the younger generation, multiplied by 76 million, is no small potatoes.

Oh my God the potatoes.

I have to go. I have to call the store.