Oh, my, what will I blame these lapses on?

Maybe it’s the heat. Yes that’s it, that would explain my couple of “doh” moments this last week.
But before I get to them, I’ve developed a bit of a theory on this weather of ours. It has decided to behave with surgeon-like precision and obediently became ridiculously hot the very day summer started – June 22. Did you notice that?
Well, my theory, which is mine and belongs to me A. Dear (Miss) – to quote Monty Python – is this. I will predict right now that on Sept. 22 all deciduous trees will turn their colors instantly to autumnal hues. Dec. 22 will see approximately 35 inches of snow, and March 22, 2010, will produce mass tulips the likes of which have never been seen outside of Holland.
There, got that off my chest. I can now move on.
There I was running around the world for ninepence on one of those unnecessarily hot days – just the sort of day you want to be running errands – where after one stop my car did just that. Stopped, died, deceased it was. Turning the key in the ignition, I didn’t even get a spark of recognition. Dodo-like, my car just, well, wasn’t really.
I called a roadside help type company for whom luckily I had a card in my purse, and sure enough a fabulous hour and 10 minutes later – having waited outside in the sauna we call Kansas City – a large, burly truck arrived with two large, burly men who, having asked me if the engine was “in back” (oh dear, thought I), jump started the car, issuing dire warnings that the battery was only on life support and the plug should be pulled immediately. Knowing I was just up the road from an auto parts store, I thought this would be an excellent time to go get the thing fixed.
Thanking my Neanderthal rescuers, I drove down the street – exactly 300 yards – when I thought to myself “Goodness me, it’s certainly a tad warm” – or words to that effect – and so I reached to the dashboard and –
turned –
on –
the –
air –
conditioning.
“Doh” moment.
 The poor thing just said “oh, hang it all.”
So there I was in the turn lane at the lights with nary enough juice to even put my hazard lights on. I called the resuscitating company and asked them to redirect the guys back to me.
 “Terribly sorry. They’re on another job.” 
“But, but – I’ve just gone 300 yards, they just passed me, they can’t be more than 1.23 minutes away.” Nope. No amount of pleading nor cajoling could get my now less than helpful receptionist to budge.
Calling directory assistance, I was connected with O’Reilly Auto Parts there on State Line Road.
“Hello – can you see a rather forlorn looking bright yellow car across the street in the intersection? Well that’s me. Can someone bring me a battery?”
Meanwhile, police arrived and very gallantly covered the rear so to speak so I was saved from being crunched in the trunk by impatient Kansans, and within five minutes Gilberto arrived with the battery.
My knight in grease-stained rompers had me up and running in a flash. Thank you dear heart, thank you Leawood police, and a good rousing Bronx cheer, and a royal raspberry to the ones who wouldn’t come back and give me a second jump, despite the fact it was my “doh” moment that caused the second problem.
Moving right along, I jump forward several days. There Sir and I were at the kitchen table. Sir had kindly gone to the store that day, and we were having a little glass of wine while waiting for the barbecue to heat up, which wasn’t going to take much as it was already 400 degrees outside anyway. The table looked like a dump.
Newspapers everywhere, both our computers out. Door bell.
Well now who could that be? Well, ‘that’ was a gal obviously both of us had completely forgotten we’d invited over for dinner.
Oh, dear, and “doh,” “doh” me.
You must remember that I pride myself in dinner parties. I break out the silver, I have flowers, I cook up a storm. And now here I was with one – count them – one steak, one salad, and I just knew that dessert, if I was incredibly lucky, was going to consist of three chocolate chip cookies and some crumbs.
Sir, God bless him, never missed a beat. Grilling the steak, he triumphantly placed it on the table, cut up into cute, bite-sized chunks. He decanted the salad from the attractive plastic container into the proper salad bowl. Gallant to a tee, I’m telling you.
So we had a very pleasant, if somewhat strange evening. I’m sure our guest thought we were all a tad eccentric, but that just adds to our powerful mystique now doesn’t it. I mean, really. If past evenings were anything to go by, she was awfully lucky she didn’t find me in my robe. 
Maybe I can just chalk up the whole week, not to the heat, but my recovery from an hour’s worth of anesthetics from three weeks ago still coursing through my veins?
No? No – guess not. No, these were just serious cases of “doh.”I plead no contest, your honor.