There is an old joke about living in a small town where if you get a wrong phone number, you end up talking for half an hour anyway. This has happened to me several times.
My sister lives near the elementary school Colin attends and Baby D and I go there to wait for him after school. Yesterday as we were leaving a mailman I did not recognize came to the door to deliver Sarah's mail.
"I won't take that from you," I said. "And commit a felony."
"Oh," He said. "I know you. You're 30 . . ." and repeated my address.
Why, yes, I am.