Here’s a tiny anecdote from my youth. All I recall is that my mom and I were inside a rock shop. We must have been on vacation in Colorado or New Mexico because there were no rock shops in Houston where we lived. Probably the rest of the family was in the rock shop as well, but I don’t recall that.
The only thing I definitely remember is that my mom showed something to the shopkeeper and asked “Is this honest?” I thought an odd question to ask, and a rude question as well, seeing as how it implied that she thought the shop might be selling fraudulent merchandise.
Years later, I realized that she must have asked “Is this onyx?”
What’s truly weird about this incident is that I remembered it, and that I remembered it well enough to realize that my memory was incorrect.
It certainly is strange how memory works.