Whoops….

I went to my friend’s house the other day. I hadn’t been to his house in a while, and, for the record, I am terrible with 1) remembering things and 2) directions. So you can only imagine how this is going to go.

As I was driving to his house, I remembered his house was the first on his block. So, I pulled into the first street, and briskly walked up to the first house on the street, rang the doorbell and waited politely.

I did feel that it was strange, though, that the house was very dark, and that there were pink baby dolls on each of the front doors. But, “whatever,” I thought. “I haven’t been here in a while, maybe things have changed!”

Suddenly, I hear behind the door, “Hello?” It sounded like they weren’t expecting me.

“Strange,” I thought.

“It’s Emilia!” I said.

“Who?”

The door opened to reveal a decrepit, old woman in a pink bathrobe, looking utterly bamboozled.

“Is this the Steinfeld residence?” I said, suddenly realizing I may be in the wrong place.

“No, honey,” she replied.

“Is this Knapp Street?” I whispered in utter humiliation.

“No, honey,” she sighed, now seeming very annoyed and pitiful simultaneously.

“Oh, I guess I should be one street down then,” I replied, trying to salvage what little bit of dignity I had left.

“No, hon, you’re supposed to be two streets down.” she said.

That was it. All of my dignity was gone — plucked away slowly by a sweet old woman. I retreated back to my car mortified beyond comprehension.

Why do I even try anymore?