The Long, Slow Slide

This afternoon I was working in my loft above the kitchen and noticing a pleasant aroma of cooking. On not the first but the second trip downstairs for tea or cookies or mail or whatever, I noticed I had left the gas flame on under an empty sauté pan. The residue of olive oil was pretty thoroughly cooked by the time I found it. Fortunately, my house is so cold that the pan was unable to overheat from a measly low gas flame.

Today marks the first time in nearly sixty years that I have absentmindedly left the stove on. Is this the beginning of the long, slow slide into senility? Are my kids going to start following me around assiduously, checking on me? Shall I start wearing my glasses on a chain, putting my keys on a clapper, wearing a nametag in case I wander?

Yikes!