Dumb as shoes

Last weekDr G made me laugh alot while watching a documentary about the people who cooked for Elvis, or bought food for Elvis, and ultimately (let's face facts), helped to kill Elvis. None of them had the brains to make that leap, that their actions contributed to his death. And in fact all of them were extremely proud of their food-related roles in his life, which just made it worse. They were, in Dr G's estimation, as dumb as shoes.

I laughed in that superior way that only someone with an IQ higher than everyday footwear can. Then today I came up with a new one: bewildered by keys.

I'd like to say I was being witty, coming up with another bon mot to match my husband's, but unfortunately I think karma was having a go at me for being superior. It was me, dear reader, who got confused by her own keys.

In short, this afternoon I tried to use the key for the car on the front door. I pressed the lock symbol, then stood there for a good few seconds wondering why the door wasn't locking, and why the car was beeping beside me.

It's a sobering thought to find the onset of middle age showing it's symptons so very early. I mean, my generation were never meant to get old. Live fast, die young. Continue going to music festivals even though it takes 2 weeks to get over them, keep wearing unsuitable clothes/hair styles/make up despite what Mr Mirror is telling us. All that.

The last thing I expected upon reaching 41 was that I was about to join Wogan's TOGs and be confused by my own keys on a Thursday afternoon. It was raining but really that's no excuse.

I'd better start doing Mensa exercises and learning Sudoko. I really don't want to end up as dumb as my shoes.

Lucy