Lots (of) Confusion

There are two vacant lots in Mom and Dad's neighborhood, something like twelve houses down, and Ellen has been wanting one to go up for sale for years so that she can live a few doors down from her most affordable babysitters. The owners of the two lots are sisters and one of the sisters used to go to church with Mom and Dad. I have changed the names for the sake of privacy but we'll say church friend's last name is Balfour, and the sister's last name is Keene.

Ellen decided to write a letter to each of the sisters; introducing herself, informing them that she went to Sunday School with their children/nieces, and that she grew up in that neighborhood and would love to buy their lot if they ever choose to sell. While she wrote the letter, Mom and Dad uncovered some confusion on the names of the sisters. 

"Is her sister Diane or Margret?"
"No, Margret is that other woman. Diane married John."
"I don't think so."
"Yeah, because Sarah is their daughter."

This went on and on and resulted in family-wide distrust in who's name was whose. I cannot remember the word for word conversation but I can repaint the experience. It goes something like this:

"Ok, so then it's Diane Balfour and Margret Keene, right?" Mom asked. 
"No," Dad corrected, "Diane is right but I think it's Morgan Keene."
"Morgan! We don't know a Morgan."
"Yeah we do. Her sister is Diane."

Ellen finished scribbling out her letters and then read them out loud to the family. 

"That's a great letter," I told her. "Do you think you should type them though? Your handwriting is a little... frightening."
"What?" Ellen spun the letters around to look. "No it isn't!"
"Let me see," Dad asked. She handed one over. Dad glanced at it and then made guilty face.
"Not uh!" Ellen shrieked.

"Let's see," Mom said. Dad passed it over to her and Mom looked at it for a few seconds before her face broke into a smile. Then she giggled. "I think you should probably type these." Then all of us laughed at Ellen, who stomped off to the playroom computer. "Hey, while you're down there, go on GIS and look up which sister owns which lot."

Ellen came back with her typed letters and some difficult news. 

"I looked on GIS. The lot is owned by Diane Bolfor."
"Yeah, Diane Balfour," Dad repeated.
"No, Bolfor. With an 'O'."
"What?" Mom said.
"It's Bolfor!" Ellen shrieked. 

"Well that must not be the same person." Mom said. 
"Of course it is," Dad suggested, "It's a typo."
"On GIS?"
"Yeah!"
"That can't be right. Laura, you went to school with their daughter. What was her last name?"
"It was Balfour."
"See!"
"It says Bolfor!" Ellen shrieked again.

"Ok, well what was the sister's name?"
"Margret Diane Keene," she said dryly.
"Oh," We all said in unison.
"So maybe Diane Keene is the person y'all know?" I suggested.
"But we know a Margret and a Diane. And it's always been Balfour." Mom said.
"Which one owns the lot?"
"They both own a lot!" Ellen exclaimed. 
"Do you know which one goes by Diane?"
"The one whose last name is Balfour." Mom answered.
"But there is no Balfour." Dad added as though everyone knows this. "There's a Bolfor."
"Do y'all even know this person?" Ellen asked. "Maybe its a totally different family."
"There's definitely a Balfour," I added, "Went to school with her."
"But what are the odds the Bolfors have a Margret and a Diane?" Mom asked, "No, it's definitely them. She's a Balfour."
"It can't be a Balfour. It's a Bolfor! Dad shrieked. "It's a Bolfor, baby!"
"Maybe Margret goes by Diane and that's the person you know - since you knew both names."
"But her last name is Keene. That's their maiden name. The sister married into the Balfours."
"The Bolfors," Dad corrected.
"Who gives their daughters the same names?" I asked.
"Who do I MAIL THIS TO!" Ellen shrieked.

Collectively, and after another six minutes of confusion, we came up with neutral ways for me to address each envelope (Ellen's handwriting) since we don't know who they are and if we know them or not. I desperately tried to hold onto the conversation so that I could transcribe it here for you but it was too chaotic and I was laughing too hard. Mom was indignant, confused. Ellen was inconvenienced. Dad and I were terribly amused. Ellen hastily sealed up the envelopes and hustled them to the mailbox. I noted that this is the kind of Seinfeld conversation my parents have together that I will miss being a part of once they kick they bucket. I tried so hard to save the memory. We ate dinner together, still trying to figure out if we know the Balfours or the Bolfors.

Ellen has not heard back.