School of Hard Knocks

Just about every day, something happens that makes me shake my head and think, “You can’t make this stuff up.”

Sometimes I even use a stronger word than “stuff.”

Today was one of those days.

Basil and I are both used to people mangling our names. Mine is often coerced in an effort to be Teresa (not my name; I am, in fact, Terri), or it is embellished with a wide array of Rs, the occasional Y or even IE at the end.

Basil has been Basile, Vasil, even Bazaleel on a junk mail envelope we had stuck to the fridge for a bit. (It provided comic relief on a regular basis.)

And don’t get started on our surnames. I spent years listening to teachers tell the class about the silent “e” at the end of words only to have them add it to the end of my maiden name, Salvatore. And now we endure Vaneck, Van Eck and, in today’s mail, Van Ech.

And wait until you get a load of what it was on:

Yup. We can order an array of garments with someone else’s name on them.

By Oct. 25.

The back of the postcard urges us to “surprise a loved one or outfit a family reunion!”

A hoodie for $34.99, long-sleeve T just $15.99.

All I can think is: Why???

It’s true that I learn untold lessons from being part of this family every day, some of them frankly unmentionable.

But I think I’ll keep that schooling to myself.