My wife seems to forget where we live. Every time

I usually drive whenever we go anywhere.  As we drive home and I pull into our driveway my wife acts startled, then starts collecting her stuff.

Every time.

It’s as though we’ve never been in our own driveway before.

I smile or chuckle and she says Oops! Or Oh!  Or something in that vein, and starts collecting her stuff.

She could start collecting her stuff on the way down our street but for some strange reason she doesn’t.

It’s completely my fault, because I forget to say something on the way down our street.

Every time.

Anyway, I have to let her out on our driveway because our garage is so full, when the car is parked inside the passenger door won’t open.

So I pull up and wait while she collects her purse, the newspapers or magazines at her feet, her day-planner, the thing she put in the back street, a scarf, a sweater, any assorted packages, also at her feet, and climbs out.

Then I pull into the garage, having lost those thirty two seconds forever.

We’re home!