As I waited at the door, ready to leave for church, Marjorie went to the piano to get the note card on which she'd written the page numbers for the prelude music and hymns that she'd be playing that day.

"Here, give me the card, Marjorie, and I'll put it in my pocket."  (I've noticed that the lists she makes never make it to the grocery store).

She handed it to me, and then marched off to the bedroom to get something else that she'd thought of.  As she returned I held the door open for her, but she brushed on past saying, "I need the note card with the hymns on it."

"It's in my pocket," I said.

"Oh, good," she said as we exited to go get in the car.

Halfway to Baker Marjorie suddenly dropped her head and exclaimed, "Oh, no!"

"What's wrong?"

"I forgot my list of hymns!"

"It's in my pocket."

"Oh, good.  You have quite the responsibility keeping track of me, don't you?"

"It's my job, and I'm glad to have it."

After church I got to the car first.  I waited quite a long time for Marjorie.  I had about decided to go looking for her when she emerged from the church, got in the car, and sat down heavily.

"I've really done it this time, James."

"What happened?"

"I've lost my purse, and it has those hundred dollar bills in it.  It wasn't up by the organ, so I went back to the bathroom, and it wasn't there!  What am I going to do?"

"I don't think you even brought your purse.  I think I remember you leaving the house not carrying a thing."

"Oh, I hope you're right."

Fortunately I was, and fortunately Marjorie has me keeping track of her.

I love the job.