The Day My Memory Failed Me
Picture this: a bright summer morning, the smell of freshly cut grass, and a ten-year-old me staring blankly at a rotary phone.
Now, you might be thinking, “Just look it up, kid!” Ah, but young grasshopper, this was the pre-internet, pre-cellphone dark ages. We’re talking about a time when phone numbers were sacred knowledge, carefully guarded and passed down through whispered conversations or hastily scribbled notes. And tragically, I had lost my sacred scroll.
The Quest for Seven Forgotten Digits
Panic set in. How could I possibly have forgotten something as crucial as my best friend’s phone number? I racked my brain, trying every trick I knew. I visualized our countless playdates, hoping the memory of her house would magically unlock the numerical code. I even tried that whole “close your eyes and concentrate really hard” thing. Spoiler alert: it didn’t work.
Desperate, I turned to my trusty sidekick—my dog, Sparky. Now, Sparky wasn’t exactly Lassie, but a guy can dream, right?