I hate it when I play inadvertent practical jokes on myself. The perils of an aging memory makes it happen more and more often.

I have a small magnetic whiteboard on my refrigerator. I use it for my To Do List and I update it every evening with the things I want to accomplish the next day. Unfortunately, the board is small enough that I tend to use abbreviations and shorthand to preserve space.

Occasionally, it backfires, as it did today. I have no idea what "Call Tony Re: Fzr Ins Hamp" is supposed to mean. If it weren't written in my own handwriting, I'd swear someone broke into Chez Fool and vandalized my To Do List. And to make it even weirder, I only know two people named Tony. One is a veterinarian and the other is a guy with whom I used to play golf.

The only critter residing at Chez Fool (besides me), is my healthy fish, Gilbert Short For Gill (his official name as given by my daughter), and the other Tony cheats too much at golf for my taste. I have no idea why I'd need to call either. Or why I'd need to contact either about Fzr Ins Hamp.

I certainly hope that Fzr Ins Hamp isn't something that needs to be hooked up to someone's life support system, needs to be installed on someone's car to keep the brakes from failing, or might be instrumental to averting nuclear war.

And I hope that this Tony, whoever he might be, didn't need a reminder about Fzr Ins Hamp and took care of it himself.