What In The Hell Is Wrong With Me?

Lately, I have a problem. Like many afflictions, it has come upon me rather slowly, but it has now become a serious problem that I need to address publicly for two reasons. One, to warn people who may encounter me in public places. Please, people, do not fear me for my affliction. I am not a bad person. Two, to seek help. To seek guidance. Can anyone out there help me?

Okay, so what is my problem? I, for the life of me, cannot remember to zip my fly. Once, not that long ago, I was a strict fly-zipper. Never did the fly go down, that it didn't come right back up. I was even what you might call an overzealous fly-zipper, sneaking hand pats to ensure that yes, the zipper was closed, and the safety was on. But now, I'll go lumbering around the house and Aubrey will frown, point, and say, "John, what the hell? You just came back from the Post Office."

I honestly can't say what the problem is. Often when I have had reason to have my fly down, I wholeheartedly believe that I have zipped up before leaving the restroom. Inevitably, however, I find twenty or thirty minutes later, that the barn door is still open. It's already happened to me twice this morning. Do I need to put a checklist on the medicine cabinet as a reminder?

Does my problem stem from working at home? I've always prided myself on my ability to stay locked into a strict work-from-home regimen. Most people picture this, when they imagine someone working from home:

That's not me. I've always gotten dressed in the morning. I work a set schedule that reflects those of my office-occupying coworkers. In fact, to the surprise of most people I meet, I get far more done at home than I ever did navigating the social playground I refer to as the workplace.

But now I wonder. Is my subconscious mind trying to convert me into a robe-wearing, flannel pajama-sporting slacker? Will I soon start finding my buttons unbuttoned?