My littlest can remember important details like what her sister wore for a party three years ago, or the color of my friend’s favorite earrings. She calls it her ‘ReMemory’, which is so adorable it makes it impossible for me to stay angry when her ‘rememory’ doesn’t work to my advantage. She does have an exceptional memory for detail, a trait which I have long known I do not possess.

I know she comes by it genetically, as my husband can still remember his childhood best friend’s phone number. You can imagine how difficult it is to win an argument with such a person. Fortunately, he doesn’t have as much recall for emotional outbursts as he does for numbers, but it is still a challenge when he’s able to remember exactly how much I spent on a visit to JCrew.

My memory is very poor, which is decidedly unhelpful during arguments, when writing about past experiences, and in situations under which I feel intense scrutiny. One such situation is the ubiquitous ‘class coffee morning’. This week I had three to attend, and as I have an extreme aversion to small talk and experience hot flashes in uncomfortable social situations, I find them to be of the devil. I kid. Sort of.

At my third, and thankfully final coffee this week, we were asked to give a short bio of ourselves and how we found our way to Switzerland. Easy, as I do remember my name, my children and my husband’s employer. What I did not account for was a question and answer period, in which a woman who is now referred to by my friend as ‘The Interrogator’, would tell me that her husband works for the same company. Not a problem, until she proceeded to question and then correct me on the exact location of their office, which as memory serves me, my husband is never at. She wanted to know where he travels, and how often. She then could not understand how he travels for work and for graduate school. Frankly, neither can I.

Then she wanted to know his precise, and I do mean precise, title. I got three quarters of the way through it (it’s long) and drew a blank. I drew a blank on my husband’s title in front of a co-worker’s wife and thirteen other people.

I could not remember and it was horrible. Cue the hot flash. There I was sweating and my mind was reeling and fourteen people were staring at me, and she says ‘Oh come on. You can do better than that.’

Well, no. No, I can’t.

The Interrogator then comments upon leaving ‘how embarrassing that must have been for me’.

Well, yes. Yes, it was.

That is one coffee that I would like to wipe completely from my ReMemory. Comments are now open for any and all embarrassing moments you would like to share. Thank you.



  • JJ

    What about the poor girl who completely LOST it during her interrogation. I felt terrible for her, and hope that she will get her emotions in check VERY soon. 🙂

  • In my humble opinion, the interrogator should have been embarrassed. Seriously. I’m really glad no one has asked me lately what my husband’s job title is.

    I would have been tempted to make something up like “Captain of Industry” or “International Man of Mystery.” That might have closed her mouth.

  • rae

    Maybe an easier question would have been, “Can you tell me about your favorite childhood birthday cake?” In which case, you would have killed it!

  • Oh, Rachel. You are lucky you have photographic evidence of that cake! I was SURE it was mine! Ha:)

  • In line at the grocery story, my newborn baby boy tucked into the car seat that was clicked into the cart basket.

    The lady in front of me in the line coo’d at the baby. She looked up and asked, “What’s his name?”

    I looked at her. I looked at the baby.

    Nothing. I couldn’t remember my baby’s name. Cheeks flaming, I scrambled for a way out. Just then, my four-year-old daughter who had been hanging off the end of the cart, piped up and said his first and middle name.

    I just smiled at the lady and when we got to the car, I gave my daughter a huge hug.

  • My titles include Child Psychologist, Domestic Engineer, Chief Operating Officer, Pet Psychologist, Veterinarian Assistant, Early Childhood Educator, Personal Chef, and Field Medic (just to name a few), so don’t expect me to remember what the hell my husband’s title is for Heaven’s sake. I’ve got a few things on my mind.

    p.s. – I couldn’t remember my own birth date at the pediatrician’s office last week.