“I’ve always known Jeff’s name. Sure, I used to confuse him with Chris all the time, but I’ve always known his name.” I argued this one Tuesday night, during a discussion of my habit of forgetting everybody’s name.

“Um… you called me John for the first year you knew me” Jeff responded.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Huh.”

Jeff had spent the night at the pet sitting house, using his masculinity to scare away the serial killers. I’d heard him showering when I woke up, but then hid out in the master bathroom, photographing a book against the tile floor. I emerged finally, only to discover Jeff had disappeared. I checked each floor, before darting outside, shivering in the newly fallen snow. But Jeff’s car was gone – as, clearly, was Jeff. I ran back upstairs, where Skye was still lying in bed. “Do you know what happened to Jeff?” I questioned. “Isn’t he downstairs?” she responded. “I heard him showering earlier.”

“He was, but now he’s disappeared. Strange, right?” I, having used all my energy walking about for a few minutes, snuggled down into the couch. I was still sitting there five minutes later when Jeff walked through the door, holding a grocery bag in his hand. Apparently he’d woken up and realized he’d forgotten something. So he showered, got dressed, and drove around through the unfamiliar neighborhood until he found a store that sold what he needed. The required item?

Hair gel.