Mark Knows It All

Last night, while attending a “formal” affair downtown, I managed to get a bad case of “foot in mouth” disease. There we were, seated at a table for 8, with good folks that I have known for years, and I kept calling my friend by his wife’s name. Not that I called him Shirley or anything. His wife’s name could swing both ways, so to speak. As valiantly as I tried, I could not stop doing it. I kept correcting myself, and apologizing to my friend. Nevertheless, John is probably wondering today why I kept calling him Bobbi. (The names have been changed to protect the innocent). What was the problem? Perhaps it was the din of the crowd. Among my plethora of phobias is claustrophobia, and I do have a degree of difficulty with large crowds. Or perhaps I have early onset Alzheimer’s, in which case get me the Aricept. Or maybe it was the 2 Martinis and subsequent wine that I guzzled (I mean sipped), which is my wife’s opinion. As for me, I think my mind is just too cluttered, and the synapses a