A few months ago, a saleswoman at Macy's tried to wheedle me into renewing my expired store credit card by offering a deep discount on the towels I was buying. So I dug it out of my wallet, where it was nestled between an expired press pass to the Texas State Capitol and an expired library card from Manchester, N.H., and happily handed it over.
She looked at it, puzzled. "But this isn't your name," she said.
The card said Daniel Collins. That's my husband, who I believe has never been to Macy's, or bought a towel, in his entire life.