I'm an Idiot #1

I am forgetful.  Most people know this.  Many have been a victim of it.  Particularly my mom.  She really hated the word "Oops!" accompanied by a surprised and fearful expression on my face minutes before leaving for school on a weekday morning.  This fateful combination often resulted in, for example, situations involving her having to drive me across town to Sabino Canyon (because I forgot we were supposed to be at school an hour early to board the bus for a field trip), then being forced to drive around Sabino Canyon  looking for my classmates in a golf cart with a strange old man missing several teeth and with questionable personal hygiene habits accompanied by his three mange-infested canine accomplices, and then having to drive twenty awkward minutes all the way back to her car with them by herself.  Alas, family members can't claim to be the sole unhappy victims.  The few remaining friends I have know this, have accepted it, and still love me despite this fact.  I have worked hard in my 31-year existence to remedy this fault, but despite my best efforts, it can't be eradicated completely.  I think it might be in my genetic code. 

Sadly, my faults don't end there.  I am also hopelessly disorganized.  The combination of my forgetfulness and my disorganization can be fantastically frustrating, and often results in me losing things--fault #3, if you're counting.  This is where we get to the subject of this post.  In the past four days, I have lost the one remaining car key (the other having met its fate many months ago), the dogs' collars (not completely my fault), and my cell phone, all in the comfort of my own home.  The car key and dogs' collars incidents both happened (on separate days, thankfully, or I'd be writing this from a mental hospital) (fault #4: overuse of parentheses) as I was to leave the house to pick up J from school, where we get fined something like $5 for every minute we're late in picking them up.  My phone, on the other hand, was missing all yesterday afternoon, and I shamefully admit that I felt completely naked without it.  What if someone needed me?  What if I needed someone?  I'm sure you'll be relieved to learn that life went on around me even without my input, and, upon reflection, it seems a little ridiculous to accept the norm that anyone can contact me, or I them, at any moment.

Anyway, we now have two dogs named Misha because I have yet to find Rusty's collar, but I did find both of Míša's.  Why does Míša have two collars, you ask?  Because two days after I bought her a new collar ($7.99), made a new ID tag at the local pet store ($11.99), and ordered a new license from the animal control center ($10.50), I found her old one, attached to a toy car, nestled comfortably in J's ride-on tractor.  At least that one wasn't my fault.