Misdirection is not lost on me

I can’t hear directions.

Whenever someone tells me how to get somewhere I look them right in the eye, nod at the right times and make sounds like “Uh huh,” and “Got it.” But the words bounce right off my forehead.

Once, a friend invited me over to see her new house. She told me how to get there, but when it was time to visit, I realized I hadn’t heard a word she’d said.

Late as always, I picked up a bottle of wine as a housewarming gift and hurried to her house.

I knew what neighborhood she had moved into but the rest of it was pretty fuzzy. I did remember she’d said something about a shared driveway and something about the house on the right side of the driveway.

I drove around the development for a while, looking for her car because I couldn’t remember the new address.

Finally, I spotted a pair of houses that flanked a shared driveway, noticed a pile of boxes by the curb, and decided that it must be the place.

I pulled up by the house on the right side of the drive and parked. Grabbing the bottle of wine I walked through the open garage door and up the stairs. When I got to the top I opened the door into the house and burst into the kitchen.

“I know, I know, I’m late,” I said, putting the bottle of wine on the counter in the center of the room. “So shoot me.”

That’s when I noticed the other people in the room.

Instead of my friend and the other guests, a circle of strangers – a family – sat around the table in the corner of the room.

No one spoke. The man, woman and two little children stared at me, blinking like owls.

I stared back.

Something didn’t seem quite right.

“Is Kim here?” I asked.

They just shook their heads silently. Finally, the woman spoke.

“Maybe she lives next door,” she said.

“Oh.”

Embarrassed, I backed toward the door. The woman got up and followed me, with a hesitant smile on her face.

“Well,” I said, trying to throw a little humor at the situation. “I guess the right house was the wrong house after all.”

Fleeing back down the stairs, I heard the door close behind me.

I ran through the garage doors and out toward what I hoped was Kim’s house. Then I remembered the bottle of wine – my housewarming gift – and froze.

It was a nice bottle of wine. And I had chosen it especially for my friend. Now it was sitting in the kitchen of people I had never met.

Chewing on my thumb, I went to the front door and pressed the doorbell. The woman opened the door.

“Um, I um, left my wine,” I said.

The woman looked confused. She turned around, walked into the kitchen and returned with the wine.

“Thanks,” I said. “It’s a gift.

Not wanting to take any more chances, I got back into my car, backed out of the driveway and parked on the street. I walked up to the front door of the other house and rang the bell.

My friend Kim opened the door.

“What are you doing,” she said. “I told you to just come up through the basement.”

I thrust the wine at her and told her the story as she opened it.

“You idiot,” she said.

“It’s not my fault,” I cried. “You said something about the house on the right.”

“Well, yeah,” she said. “I said I’d met the neighbors on my left but not the people who live in the house on the right.”

At that, my friend Kim told me where she’d like to see me go next.

But, of course, I can’t remember.