Smelling Sweet

I'd like to think of myself as something good with words.  Faces, I may not remember, but names, I do.  But perhaps all that is just something I'd like to believe, because I seem to have a tendency of forgetting what I ought not to.  There is, of course, that story from Ms. Cavanagh's history class, when she took attendance and asked if "Jason" was here, and I, for whatever reason, had it stuck in my mind that the Jasons of our grade were Claffey and Cyrene, and turned to Jason Rusman next to me to ask, "Who the heck is Jason?" 

Then there was the time I misspelled Gak's name (and tried to play it off as a typo).  And then there was last night, when I got an e-vite and could not piece together who it was from or how I knew those people.  It took me a good seven minutes, and the thought process went something like this...

"The Fairmont sounds familiar... I wonder why I know this name.  I must have just learned it..." (I was just there on Saturday)
"Dave?  Jeff?  Tim?  Who are these people.  I do not know any of these names."  (I have known Tim for four years)
"I wonder how I even got on this list."  (I just saw Tim- and met Dave- on Saturday.  At the Fairmont.)
"Maybe they sent it to the wrong address... though everything sounds oddly familiar..."

I don't know what's going to leak out of my brain next.  But I'm worried, people.  Very worried.  Perhaps you should all send me some gingko biloba and pin it to my lapel so I don't forget to take it.