think I’ve come down with something, and for your sake, I hope it’s not contagious. Apparently I’ve picked up a nasty case of “Brain Fog Syndrome.” Threatening women everywhere, this sinister condition blocks brain access to a crucial element of speech: nouns.

I suspect that BFS attacks on several levels. It’s got something to do with hormones, age, and the plethora of information inundating me at every turn. This insidious malady turns the simplest of conversations into desperate guessing games, as those around me attempt to fill in the blanks left by my fumbling brain.

Calling my son, I ask, “Do you know where the, uh …” Suddenly, without warning, my brain simply switches off. Fighting an overwhelming surge of frustration, I gesticulate, hoping to convey my meaning without actually using words … or my brain. My son waits patiently; he’s played this game before.

“The whatchamacalit,” I begin. “You know, the thing with the thing that I use for …  um …”

Well, now, this is fun.

My valiant son attempts to interpret what I mean by relying on my wild hand signals, while gathering clues from around us. Suddenly he deciphers my meaning and, thankfully, puts me out of my misery. “You mean the vacuum cleaner attachment?” He asks.

Oh, happy day. “Yes! That’s it!” Sighing with sweet relief, I get on to the task of, um, oh yes, vacuuming.

These little guessing games are sort of like charades, only not as fun … although I have been known to break out in applause when I finally remember a word on my own.

For fellow BFS sufferers, here’s the good news: Ecclesiastes 5:2 says to let our words be few. These days I’m finding that much easier to do. And thankfully, God is always available to help us communicate clearly when we ask him.

Now that I can remember.

Editor's note: Our "Just For Women" columns reflect the perspectives and experiences of the writer.