COLUMN: A Wife, by Any Other Name

SAN ANGELO, TX — Through no fault of our own, my wife and I have neighbors. We didn’t ask for neighbors, nor did we give our consent. They just moved into the houses around us. You’d think people would be more considerate, but no.

Jocelynn and I live in the third house from the corner of our street. My wife ordered some bar stools, and UPS delivered them to the house on the corner. Packages get delivered to the wrong houses all the time around here, and Congress does nothing. Once in a while I have to let my neighbors know when we get something that was supposed to go to them. Unless it’s something really nice.

The point is the delivery going to the wrong house wasn’t a big deal, except that the lady who lives there just bought the house about a month ago, and she wasn’t sure who the packages were for. We’d met her, but briefly, and she was vague on our names. Which becomes relevant shortly.

For several years an older lady named Mary Kay Joslyn lived in the house next to us, between our house and the one on the corner. We called her Miss Joslyn, and kind of kept tabs on her. She had a lot of health issues, and she texted me a lot to help her with stuff, which I was happy to do. We became friends, despite the fact she had three small, yappy dogs. The really irritating kind. A few months ago her health deteriorated, and after a few days in the hospital she pass on. Which is definitely not the funny part. We don’t miss her dogs, but we miss her. And then some new folks bought the house and moved in next to us a couple of weeks ago.

The thing is, timelines are a little too difficult for me to keep up with sometimes. Someone will ask me how old I am and I’ll say 25, or 80, I just pick a random number. My wife provides accurate information when needed. So when I parked in front of my house one day last Thursday, and the lady from the corner house came walking up to tell me about the delivery mistake, I wasn’t thinking about how long she had lived there, and that Miss Joslyn had been gone before she moved in. Which created problems.

Corner Lady said, ‘Some packages were delivered to my house, and I think they’re for Miss Jocelynn.’ But what I heard was, ‘I think they’re for Miss Joslyn.’ Because that’s what we called our neighbor. Now, this is where the train went off the rails, never to return.

I said, ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I guess you didn’t hear. She died.’ Corner Lady just stared at me, which I thought was odd behavior for someone who lives in a corner house. I didn’t realize she had never met Miss Joslyn, and didn’t know someone with a name that sounded just like my wife’s had lived between us, so she thought I was telling her my wife had died. But since she was just staring at me, I went on, making it worse.

I said, ‘Yeah, she had heart problems, and her kids came and took her to the hospital, but her daughter came by later and told me she didn’t make it. It was at least a month ago, maybe two. Anyway, some other folks bought the house, and they just moved in.’ This speech, you might note, was unlikely to clear up any confusion. Corner Lady kept staring, so I just smiled at her, kind of sadly.

Finally she said, ‘What’s your last name?’ So I told her, and she said, ‘What’s your wife’s name?’ So I told her, and she said, ‘That’s the name on the packages.’ So then I realized she had gotten my wife’s bar stools. The name similarity between my wife and our recently deceased neighbor still hadn’t made entry into my consciousness.

I smiled and said, ‘Ah, my wife told me she had ordered some bar stools. I’ll come get them. Thanks for letting me know.’ She left in a hurry, and kept looking back over her shoulder, which also seemed strange, but I went and retrieved the stools. And as I was making the last trip with the last box, it dawned on me that I had just informed my new neighbor that my wife had died, in a tone that probably sounded like I was describing the demise of a pet I had been somewhat fond of. No wonder she left in such a hurry.

I started to go explain things immediately, but then I wondered how that would sound. ‘Uh, ma’am, when I said Miss Joslyn had died, I meant the lady who lived next door before you moved in. Her name and my wife’s name sound the same. My wife is alive and well, really, she’s fine, no need to call the loony bin or anything. I’m not crazy. You have a nice day, now.’

So I waited until Jocelynn got home from work, and told her the story, and when she stopped laughing at me we went to straighten things out with Corner Lady. But she had conveniently left for the weekend, and now I’m sitting here listening for the sirens and wondering what the strait jacket will feel like.

If I get committed to an asylum, I’m suing UPS . . .

Kendal Hemphill is an outdoor humor columnist and minister who sometimes thinks, although it’s not noticeable. Write to him at [email protected].