Settle in, friends, because I have a story to tell you.
The other night I went to help a friend with a knitting project. She was babysitting her grandson, as she often does, so she gave me the address of her daughter and son-in-law’s house. (For the sake of my story, I will make up an address: 224 Main Street.) She described the house as a white ranch. As I was leaving my house she texted me and said that I should use the front door but that I should not ring the bell because the baby was sleeping. She said she’d be watching for me.
I put the address in my GPS and I set out. It was only a little over 10 minutes before I found a white ranch at 224 Main Street. I parked my car and walked up to the front door. Said door was ajar so I knocked and waited a few seconds. Being mindful of the sleeping baby, I knocked again and pushed on the door a bit, quietly calling her name. Sally? No response but I thought, well, maybe she’s tending to the baby, so I pushed the door open further and stepped into a darkened living room. The TV was on and there was a man lying on the couch flipping through the channels. Sally hadn’t mentioned that her husband would be with her but I figured this was him so, as he looked up from his channel flipping, I said, “Is Sally here?” And he said, without getting up and with barely a glance in my direction, “Sally? There’s no Sally here.”
I questioned the address and he said I had the right address but that he didn’t know Sally. He remained lying on the couch, flipping the channels on the TV. At this point I am backing out and apologizing profusely. As I am apologizing I pointed out that the front door was partly open and that I thought my friend had left it that way for me. Because, really, who leaves their door open like that in March?? I mean, it made complete sense that I thought it was ajar like that because Sally was expecting me. So I stumble my way out of the house, saying how sorry I am for disturbing him, and he says, “no problem. Hope you find Sally.”
I get back in my car and I’m sort of laughing but also sort of horrified. I text Sally and I say, “I’m at 224 Main Street. But you’re not.” And she texts back immediately (thank goodness!) and says, “Oh NO! It’s 324 Main Street, not 224. I’m so sorry!”
Can I just ask, right now, what are the odds that this could happen? Not only was there actually a house at the wrong number, because that’s not a guarantee, but the house was the right color. And the whole bit with the front door being ajar like that totally fit what I expected since the baby was sleeping and Sally was watching for me. Right? And also, wouldn’t you get up off the couch if a stranger stepped into your living room looking for Sally? I know I would. This guy, though? Totally nonplussed by the whole thing.
To wrap this up, I found the right house easily and there was Sally. The lights were on and she was standing in the doorway, waving to me. We had a really good laugh, I said how happy I was that at least the guy had clothes on, and boy aren’t I lucky that he wasn’t an ax murderer, and I proceeded to help her with the heel of the Christmas stocking she is knitting. I should say, though, that this was a short row heel with yarn overs and I had never done that before. We got it figured out and done but I’m not sure how much help I actually provided.
The moral of the story? Double check your addresses, my friends. Double check.