I recently spent a night in Kristiansund, Norway, which should absolutely not to be confused with Kristiansand, Norway. The two cities are much farther apart geographically then lexicographically:

I wonder how many people wind up in the wrong one each year. I am confident the number is not zero.

Anyhow, I stayed at a lovely little apartment found on Booking.com run by a kind woman named Annette. She managed things so nicely that when Booking auto-prompted me to leave a review, I didn’t even mind. I wrote a few lines encouraging future travelers to consider the spot, in the hopes that it would be helpful.

I thought that would be the end of it.

Of course, it was not. After I followed their request urging me to leave a review, Booking then followed up by dropping this in my inbox:

Read my review? I don’t need to do that. I wrote it!