What Was I Thinking?

One day, Mom and I were in the car together heading home from a trip to Manchester. She had strolled the isles of Michael's while I got my hair cut. As we visited in the car, I told her how my hairdresser tries to get me to color the gray out of my hair but I don't want to be married to having my roots done every six weeks.

Mom said, "The only time I ever colored my hair was for Mary's wedding. And that was before you were born." I didn't say anything right away as I tried to think what she might be referring to.

Then I asked, "Are you talking about Jo-Ann's daughter, Mary?"

"Yessss," she insisted, "Mary."

"Mary Rogers, Rich's wife, my niece?" I couldn't hide the edge of incredulity in my voice. "Mom, I think I was born. I went to Mary's wedding with you."

Mom grew quiet for a few moments and I knew she was thinking about it. She finally said, "Oh Donna, of course, you were born. What is wrong with my thinking?"