The Scornful Eye Rollers

They all looked at me like I was losing it. Longtime hubby, the eldest, the lovely D.I.L., the youngest, even Sir Blakey sighed in my general direction. The overall vibe was less than encouraging. A sort of "Who wants to tell her?" Followed by, "I'm not telling her, you tell her." In fairness to myself, and the brain I currently lodge at a reduced rate, is it really possible to keep track of what I've said or not said?
"Mama Bear," the eldest began, "you already told us."
"I did?"
Here his younger brother weighed in. "Last Sunday, Ma."
"No way." I looked at my darling and devoted daughter-in-law for reassurance. In return, I got a smile and a nod. A glance at longtime hubby revealed utter despair. As in, "Bring back the gal I met in 8th grade."
"So, what you're all saying is I already told you I was going to Eggslut on Monday?”
A round of cruel "yeses" followed.
"But how often do you get to tell someone you're going to Eggslut?"
"In your case, at least twice, Ma," the youngest said.
"Go to your room."
Whereupon he got up, grabbed his 32 baskets of laundry and exited through the front door of the palatial estate. Or maybe he stayed for dessert, then left. Who can remember?

Did I mention I'm going here today?