I have fallen between a crack, but not this time. Drivers license renewal included a photograph new mothers can use to demonstrate what happens to those who will not eat greens, and as well, I suffered one of those lapses in memory that results in the raised eyebrow. Why is it that a vast majority of those of us who can still walk on two legs are expected to be able to remember their telephone number.
I hope it was the metal detector, just inside the court house portal, that confused a brain cell. And I remembered, while emptying my pockets into the little plastic bin, that there was a possibility I might be asked for a telephone number. As well the existential question "Do you still want to be an organ donor?" tends to distract. Then bam! "What's your phone number?"