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Please don’t ask me if I remember you

Someone I would have been so happy to see after all these years – 30- of them! – came up to me this morning and asked me, “Do you remember me?” Oh do I hate that question! I don’t remember what I had for breakfast, my previous address, or my own feet. Is there ever a time when “Do you remember me?” is a socially ok question to ask?

And, by the way, throwing in hints only makes it worse. How many times do you want me to acknowledge that my memory is crap and I am utterly self-involved before we get around to re-establishing our old bonds?

Yes, I am a cranky old man.

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