My parents (and I for the moment) live in street where basically no one else lives. There are two houses used only during holidays, two other houses used only during the summer and a few abandoned ones.
My mum once needed to know what our street number was, therefore she went to the town hall to ask. The secretary said: “Well, let’s count.. there are..mmh about 6 houses in the street before arriving at yours, so, let’s say..you are number 7”. My mum was a bit surprized, but he also wrote it down somewhere, therefore she thought it would be ok. Since then, about 10 years ago, we always told people we live at number 7.
Yesterday I was walking home, when I spotted some figures on the houses leading to my house. “Hey, street numbers” I thought seeing number 1. Then I looked at the opposite house: it was number 27. What? I came home wondering what number we were, I supposed number 7.
No figure to be seen on our house. My dad came home after work asking if we “had a number” too. Because he saw the person in charge of painting the numbers sitting drunk on the street mourning he didn’t know which number he had to put on the house he was sitting in front of.
Today I was sitting on the balcony studying. I heard someone call my mum’s name, so I went out to look who was shouting. It was the man who was supposed to paint the number on our house. He asked me where he could paint it, I told him where, but I was sure it would have been number 7.
Then I went to the car (there a 5-minute walk from the car to our house) to pick up the grocery. And as I walked near “the point” I spotted two figures. Two? What? And no 7 was involved. No. It was a 24.! A 24! Then I came across a ruin next to our house, that was number 7!
Let’s point out that I think there are not even 24 lived-in houses in the whole village. I will need some time to get used to it.