Yesterday I read on Facebook that a university pal and former radio station coworker of mine, let's call him Garth*, had just celebrated the birth of his first child. This made me smile because, a) I'm a sucker for babies, and b) it made me reminisce about all the crazy shenanigans that happend during my four years at university. Or as I like to call it, back when you could bounce a quarter off my ass.
We didn't use many first names at the radio station, which in retrospect, probably helped us receive less hate mail. We had been using said nicknames for so long the stories of how those names came to be are long forgotten. Or so I keep telling myself while I avoid attending my class reunion.
But yesterday I could not remember Garth's nickname. And if there's "one" thing that drives me crazy it's not being able to remember something I know. So I'll obsess about it until hours/days/weeks later it pops "like magic" into my head - ta dah! Unfortunately when it pops "like magic" into my head I get so excited that I've remembered something. And I'll blurt it out. At meetings, in the grocery store, on the toilet, wherever. It's like I have Bad Memory Tourettes.
Last night I was lying in bed with Paul trying to think of Garth's nickname. Paul gave me a kiss, and I blurted out "Spanky!" (Spanky was Garth's nickname). Unfortunately Paul thought I shouted "Spank me."
It was an awkward situation all around.
*Garth is definitely NOT his real name. His real name is much cooler. It's also the name of a particularly yummy-licious waffer.