Stacy Jones?

The doughnut man nodded. "Is that your name?"

Was it her name? It didn't seem wrong, at least. "Stacy Jones," she said exeperimentally. "Maybe. Maybe." She struck her forehead in frustration. "I just don't know!"

"Well, uh, look," said the man. "I've got a phone book. I know Jones is really common name and all, but maybe you're in it."

"It's worth a try!" exclaimed Stacy. He went and got the phone book. As they had feared, there were column after column of Joneses, and while there was no "Stacy Jones," there were no fewer than 25 variations on "S. Jones." Stacy sighed deeply.

"Well, look," said the guy. You're not wearing a wedding ring, right?" Stacy had to look to be sure she wasn't. "So, assuming you live here, and assuming you have a listed number, it's probably under your name. Right? So you're probably one of these, anyway."

"Assuming I don't live with someone else and it's listed under their name..." She sighed again. "This is beginning to sound like way too many assumptions."

1. "Forget it," she said. "This is just pointless."
2. "Well, I suppose we've got to start somewhere," she said. "Let me use your phone."

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