Another senior moment. Out doing my visiting teaching. I have an easy route. Lovely women. I'm pretty sure they take better care of me than I do of them...
I was a bit distracted. As I pulled into the driveway I inadvertently picked up my cell phone instead of the garage door opener. They're about the same size, both dark colored. Didn't even look as my hand closed around it, pointed it at the door and tried to click the button to activate the door.
Hmmm, where's the button?
Door is not moving.
Duh.
So I switch devices and finally park in the garage, then head back out to get the mail. Go to the front door, purse, mail, Ensign & keys in hand. Casually scanning the letters. Shift the key ring and press the button on the flobber jobber to open the door and try to turn the door knob.
Sigh.
Of course the front door...to the house...is still locked, because the 'flobber jobber' unlocks the van doors.
But it's kinda funny.
Farm Boy calls shortly thereafter. I laughingly start to relay my sad tale of a non-functioning brain and how, when I drove into the driveway, I couldn't get the "garage door opener" to work.
"Wanna, know why that is?" I ask.
"Ummm," he responds. "Wrong house?"
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