No trip to Disney

I love getting mail, any kind of mail. Email, letters, cards, the fact that someone took time out of their day to spend a moment sending me a message. Imagine my surprise when here I am walking to the mailbox getting letters daily from different companies offering me credit. Did they not check before sending it out? Do they not know who I am?
I should call them and see if I have to pay them back, maybe the stuff is para-free, and I can go splurge on a shopping spree, guilt free.
My bills are a mess, but the children are healthy, it isn't cheap to keep them like that, I will be paying Mike's hospital bills until he reaches retirement.
I am catching up little by little, I am finally feeling less pressure and these idiots want to say thank you by extending my credit and offering my husband a various array of credit cards, from Mickey Mouse to Carnival Cruise. I don't want to owe the mouse, he is sacred, he is the symbol of happiness. And most surprising is that they come to my husband, like he needs help getting into debt. Money just walks out of his pocket. I want to go to Disney, I want the Mickey credit card, at almost a hundred bucks a ticket now too, that is a dream far from my grasp, that mouse is on crack, put the pipe down Mickey.
So I shred the pretty offers.
I sit by the garbage and rip them in half, then in half again, and one more time. If I am bored, I will shove it all into a 2 liter and fill it up with water, just to make sure that no one wants to put it together. It's really simple to tape together paper ripped in pieces, but not if it's submerged in liquid. That is a different level of difficulty, like stage 9 in Tetris.
Wouldn't it be hysterical if they went through all that trouble to steal my identity and then get denied for credit. HA!
All I am doing is making sure that we don't obtain any more credit cards, to go out and buy more crap that we don't need and Mike D will ultimately break. I was not meant to have nice things, and here I am 9 credit cards later, learning that very expensive lesson.
On Sunday night, I am sitting on the sofa and ask my husband about our debt. I wonder if I will ever go to prison for owing the wrong person, I read in the paper that collection agencies are now stalking you on facebook. Why the hell would I want to be friends with them, choose your friends wisely people. Oh and they don't just stalk you, they send messages to your friends about your bills. Holy Shit. But all my friends know I am broke and borrowing, no worries.
He pulls up my name on the internet on the laptop to see if I have a lien or some court bullshit that I owe and don't know about, you know the surprise bills.
He didn't find any, but he did manage to find one little piece of useful information.
Apparently when I married my husband almost ten years ago, some idiot (at least to me, a miracle worker to my husband) entered the wrong name. My husband's name is Gordon, and his last name is American. I know that I would never marry a Gordon, how do you scream to that, it's not cute to say Gordonito, too many syllables, shortening it to Gordo would just be offensive.
My husband wondered if there was someone else with my name, when we clicked the attachment, the papers were there, signed and dated, the name was definitely my husband's, but in the system, on record and in the computer, it was Gordon.
My husband jumps up off the sofa and goes into dance, he begins to sing the lyrics of U2's "It's a Beautiful Day" tells me it's not a mistake, to go find Gordon, he's got 3 kids to take care of.
I have heard it all since his discovery, I am living in sin, I am not his wife, I should learn to cook better to get myself a man. Giving him any orders, or requests have now become bribery a la college-slut style, it's asking him for something, and what will I do for it? Like I need the answers to an upcoming test, I don't need him to pick up socks that badly, back in the drawer they go, again.
Oh and now that he is single, he has plans for the weekend, apparently a one-night stand with a single mom of three kids.
We have definitely had fun with this revelation, telling my dad was a little different, he insisted that I immediately call the courts and have them fix it, like it's made any difference up until now.
He didn't find any amusement in it at all. "That was just some comemierda that made the mistake, they have to fix it." My husband and I hold our laughter, but not for long.
So now I must continue to avoid the credit offers, fix my husband's status and get his ass married, and maybe look up Gordon and check out the assets there before I make any drastic moves.