A while ago John and I noticed that we weren’t receiving any mail except for letters addressed to “Occupant” or “Resident.” We were confident that we had more friends than letters we were getting (and by “friends” of course I mean the phone company, gas company, city utilities company, insurance company, and credit card companies). We called the post office to see if they could tell us why our mailbox was so empty.

It turns out that they had confused us with a family in Payson by the name of Robison, and all our mail was going to them. Now, I’m sure those post office employees are smart cookies in general. But I don’t understand how, truly, they could confuse Robinson in Provo with Robison in Payson. In any case, we got the number of the Robisons and gave them a call. We told them that we would make the half-hour trip to Payson and pick up our mail.

We went, we knocked, and no one answered. We waited, we knocked again, and no one answered. We went home.

Later that day the Robisons called us and arranged to come to Provo to drop off our mail. They were a young couple, maybe in their mid-twenties. He was tall and slightly paunchy; she was short with black hair and a perm that had turned to frizz. Both seemed friendly, but the wife was definitely the dominate talker. When they handed over our stack of mail, Mrs. Robison apologized profusely and excused her and Mr. Robison for not answering the door when we had come earlier that day. “We were in the shower,” she said.

Ahem.

Did she just say that they were in the shower together? Soaping up naked while we were standing innocently on their front step, waiting?

If they want to shower together, fine. But that’s not something you say out loud, to total strangers, not even if our last names are only one letter different. I had to black out instant images of these two people standing in front of me showering naked together.

Note to self and everyone else: Never, never use “We were in the shower” as an excuse. For anything. To anybody. Ever.