One year ago today, (total coincidence) I wrote a post about how people butcher our last name. You can read it here.
For the record: our name is Zimbardi.
I get that the first five letters in our name are the same as Z-i-m-b-a-bwe and there is the same total number of letters-so I see the similarities. I do. But to have our mailman hand me a letter addresses to Gracie Zimbardi and comment that he had to do some detective work to find out where it belonged because and I quote “your name is Zimbabwe.”
He had five other letters addressed to us-addressed to the Zimbardi’s and he still thought our name was Zimbabwe.
I don’t mind. I’m not offended-just intrigued. Sort of obsessed, actually.
Now, in his defense, he is a new-ish mailman. He has replaced the mailman who we have had for the past year and a half who did not deliver any mail to our home for Perryann because her last name is Schoulten and he knew that our name was Zimbardi. True story. He finally asked me a few weeks ago if I knew anyone named Schoulten because he had been returning all the mail to the sender and it just seemed odd to him (finally) that it continued to be resent to us. Go figure.
Maybe the rain, sleet, snow and gloom of night is getting to them. On the other hand, maybe it is heat stroke.