19 May, 2009

mister and missus

in our household, i am the money man. i am the one who juggles it, tosses it from one account to another, and counts it while cackling gleefully. i am also the one who chooses the charities we support, and who writes the cheques for said charities. red cross was one such charity, and over the years they had gotten a fair bit of moola from the monkey household. unfortunately, a couple of years ago, the red cross was sucked into a space-time anomaly and reemerged in the 1950's, wherefrom it began addressing all our correspondence in the following format:

mr. and mrs. albert monkey (names have been changed to protect our privacy, duh!)

i wrote them once, very politely informing them of the current year and century, explaining that my name was not, in fact, albert, and never had been. it was my husband's name and while i had followed the quaint tradition of taking on his last name, i never gave up my first, along with my entire identity as an independent human being.

they persisted.

i then wrote a second letter, firmer than the last, and told them that they would not receive a red cent from the monkey household if they did not immediately start to acknowledge my existence, seeing as it was me (gasp! the woman!) who chose whether or not they got our support in the first place.

after a long period of silence wherein i stewed and fretted about having actually yelled at a charity, there followed a correctly addressed letter asking for money:

mr. albert and mrs. matilda monkey

i sent them money.

i thought it was over. i have just received a notepad addressed, you guessed it, to my husband and his nameless chattel, moi.

they will get no more money. 

No comments: