I have two neighbors, who are both all kinds of awesome, and who both have the same name. For the sake of maintaining their privacy, I’ll call them both Lucy: Lucy F and Lucy S. And I’ll call Lucy F’s husband Fred.
This morning I sent Lucy F a text asking to borrow a sippy cup of milk, which kicked off the following text exchange.
Me: Can I borrow a sippy cup of milk?
Lucy F: I’m in Beijing right now. What time should I expect you? Can you call Lucy to ask her?
Me: WHAT? When did you go to Beijing? Where are the boys?
Lucy F: I left last Friday. The boys are home but have been gone a lot, I think. Off to Shanghai tomorrow. Hong Kong on Saturday and back on Wednesday. This summer is nuts.
Me: So does that mean you’re not home for the splash party on Friday? Who is with the boys?
Lucy F: I won’t be there. Lucy is with the boys (unless I am missing something?).
Me: Lucy S?
Lucy F: This is Fred, Heather. Did you think you were texting Lucy F?
Me: Yes. D’oh.
Fred: OK. I’m looking back and the chain and am laughing my butt off. Too funny. You thought I was asking you to call Lucy S. You and both Lucys will have a good laugh over this.
I was simultaneously horribly embarrassed and cracking up. I’m sure Fred was wondering why the heck I was asking him for milk instead of his wife and thinking I was pretty dim. Both Lucys and I did indeed have a good laugh.
Modern communication isn’t so wonderful sometimes.