Taking a break from sightseeing on the streets of Reykjavik, Jamie and I sought refuge in a small, crowded coffee shop. She told me she wanted a cup of coffee and wandered off to find a table while I placed our order.
The barista handed me an empty cup and said I could fill it from a wide selection of choices at the bar behind me. I didn’t know exactly which kind of coffee Jamie wanted, so I thought I’d better let her make her own decision. I spotted her sitting at a nearby table, looking downward so that I could only see the top of her hair. I walked over, set the cup and saucer down on the table in front of her and said, “Here’s your coffee cup.”
The attractive, short-haired woman at the table looked up and said, “I didn’t order coffee.”
It wasn’t Jamie.
Startled, I blurted out, “You’re not my wife.”
She started laughing. The woman at the next table (also not Jamie) started laughing. Then I started laughing. Half the damn coffee shop started laughing.
They did look almost identical — other than the fact that my ersatz wife was Chinese and about 20 years younger than Jamie. In my defense, they both had short, dark hair with very similar cuts.
The other short-haired young woman’s name was Summer, and oddly enough, she’s also from Texas.