Airhead

My current roommate has this notion that I'm an airhead.  She tries to soften it by explaining that I'm like the absent-minded professor, but the truth is that I'm no professor--so if it's true, I'm just a flake.  In any case, I find myself heartily protesting.  It seems inimical to my identify as a solid, reliable brunette--not a spacey blonde like my older sister was in high school (sorry, Jen--you've since become the world's most pragmatic human, so no hard feelings).

I admit I certainly have my moments.  I was remembering today how I went to a friend's house a couple of years ago and we took off our shoes at the front door.  The next day, I noticed a strange pair of flip flops under the coffee table in the living room but didn't think much of it.  They were still there a few days later, and I remember feeling vaguely annoyed that my roommate hadn't moved them yet.  Anyway, a couple of weeks later, another friend contacted me to ask if I had her shoes--her nice, Reef flip flops--since they had disappeared at the door when she had gone to leave.  All that had been left had been a cheap pair of flip flops a size and a half too small for her.  Sure enough, I had worn her Reefs home and left them under the coffee table without noticing that they were too big and much nicer than mine--and then I had proceeded to forget that I had left them there.  Genius.