Is your sanity accounted for?

Have you ever had that nightmare where you show up in public somewhere in your underwear and then you wake up mortified? I had that nightmare this morning, only I still haven’t woken up and as it turns out, it wasn’t a dream at all.
I am pretty sure that the part of your body that controls your sanity is stored in your stomach. Mine I know was accidentally removed with my c-section last year. That would explain why more women than men loose their sanity. Right? Makes sense to me. (But, I am the one with the a-wall sanity.)
If you know me well, you know that if I get interrupted while getting ready in the morning and have to leave the bathroom, then I usually forget that I hadn’t finished the process of beautifying myself. I find out as I am walking through a store and pass my reflection in a window or something. “That poor lady,” I think. “It looks like she didn’t even brush her hair. Agh! It’s me!” Such is life…or my life at least.
So, today I jumped out of the shower and realized as I glanced at the clock that Corbin was going to be late to preschool. I threw some clothes on, hucked my kids in the car, and we were on our way. Corbin and I battled when we got there over whether or not he would wear his hat. I didn’t have time to do his hair and I insisted he wear the hat. I, however, gave in quickly as cars were lining up behind me, but by this point he didn’t want to go to school at all. So here I am, standing by the side of my car, waving others to go around me, talking to Corb’s teacher, and trying to convince my child to stay at school. Then, I look down.
I think, “That’s funny, I distinctly remember deciding to wear my grey shirt today, why did I put on my white one?” Then it hits me. I put on my white tank top, but no shirt. I am standing here in a very tight, very see through, tank top with my garments hanging out as sleeves. I voiced my horror out loud and Miss Amber burst into hysterics.
Do you think it is possible to have a sanity transplant, you know, like a heart transplant? Sign me up…