The Saturday after Thanksgiving we always have a talent show at Sidewalk Sunday School. The kids show off for each other and we feed them Pizza and soda. The only way you can have an 11 a.m. delivery of seven large pizzas is if you place the order the night before. The thing is, I’ve been a little distracted lately and my mind skips off all by itself. I’m finding this rather disconcerting.
For as long as I can remember, as I’m drifting to sleep I review the day I just had, and preview the one coming up. Friday night just as I was on the edge of sleep, Connie Conscience, that little voice in my head said, “So, did you order the pizza?”
“Nope,” I mumbled.
“Say that again?”
“Not. Going. To.”
“Right.” Her voice dripped sarcasm. “Get up!”
“Thirty kids are all going to be standing there holding empty plates and staring at you.”
“Crap! Why’d you have to go and plant that vision in my head?”
“That’s it. Turn on the light. I knew you’d do the right thing.”
Saturday morning when I woke I was relieved that Connie had made me order the pizza. Facing the children without it would have been horrible. The pop I’d purchased the day before, and it was already in the trunk of the car. I just needed to stop by the store for ice, and the church to get the kid’s prizes — harmonicas — and all would be set.
I got in the car and started driving. The next thing I knew, I was at a red light about two miles beyond both the church and the store. “Lovely. Turn around and go back, Idiot. And this time pay attention!”
I got my supplies and made it to Sidewalk safely. We were setting up and Brandon, holding the pop and ice, said: “Where’s the cooler?”
Milli said, “Do we have paper plates and napkins for the pizza?”
I picked up my car keys and walked away, assuring them over my shoulder, “I’ll be right back.”
If any of you have an extra attention span I would very much like to borrow one.
“She’ll probably just misplace it, too.”