Ding. Dong. It’s your Avon Lady.

I got a mass email from the elementary school PTA. It was sent to all the officers and committee chairs (and maybe more). Last year, I was a co-chair of Cultural Arts, so I think that’s why I was on the list.

The email asked that each person make (or buy) an item for the staff luncheon to be held the day before meet the teacher day. (The luncheon was today.)

I offered to make a cake. Why I would offer to make a cake in the heat of August is a little hard to fathom, but I did.

So the day before yesterday, I made the layers. They came out nicely. Chocolate. What else is there?

Yesterday, I spread a strawberry jam between the layers and the boys helped me spread milk chocolate icing around the sides and on the top. It looked great. I sprinkled some nice decorating thingies on the top. And voila!

Last night, on the way to poker, I planned to drop the cake off at one of the two homes specified on the note. Though I figured I’d recognize both women, I couldn’t place the names. No worries.

I drove to the neighborhood where they both lived. It’s a beautiful sprawling neighborhood with spacious homes and tall trees. Checking the mailboxes along the road, I found the house ending with 43 and I needed 41 but there was no number on the mailbox. I pulled in.

Perhaps I should mention that I haven’t been wearing my glasses as much as I should. And, that I might have been a bit overconfident about the name of the street.

Okay. Back to the story. I parked. I walked to the front door and rang the bell. A woman answered and her young son clung to her leg. I remember those days.

She smiled broadly. “Thank you,” she said, “thank you!”

“Julie?” I asked.

“No.”

Yikes. Well, I explained that I was at the wrong house and that the cake was for the PTA Teacher lunch and I’m sorry to have bothered her and did she know if that was Julie’s house next door?

“No, I just moved in this week,” she said.

Oh, poop. This woman thought I made her a cake to welcome her to the neighborhood. But instead, I snatched that good feeling right away. I felt like crap.

I asked her if she had any elementary school kids. She does. A first grader. I said I’d see her at school. Nice to meet you and all that. And I’m sorry again for bothering you.

I just took this pie out of the oven. It’s a crumb-top apple pie. I’m taking over to that woman to welcome her to the neighborhood.