Day 27: Mistaken identity

I recently watched North by Northwest, a delightful Hitchcock film about a case of mistaken identity. You've probably at least seen the scene where Cary Grant outruns and outwits a cropduster:

or the scene where Eve Marie Saint is all "I could run faster if I weren't in these heels, but it's 1959 and even when scaling Mount Rushmore I have to remain ladylike."

Where was I? Oh yeah, the whole movie's plot is set around Cary Grant raising his hand at a supremely unwise time in a restaurant, which leads to group of thugs kidnapping and trying to kill him.

Naturally this leads me to today's prompt:

When have you been mistaken for someone else? Did chaos and/or attempted murder ensue?

Alternate: If you've never actually been mistaken for someone else, tell us what celebrity people say you look like.

I'm currently being mistaken on a monthly basis for someone I am definitely not: a mother. This fall, I began receiving Similac "Strong Moms" mailings. It began innocently enough - with a sincere congratulations on my phantom baby, and some coupons. Then they upped the ante with parenting tips, an invitation to be part of the Strong Moms online network and... drumroll... two canisters of formula. You can throw away coupons and flyers, but it didn't feel right to throw away perfectly good baby food. There it sits in my pantry, a daily reminder that in an alternate universe, someone thinks I need advice on weaning, diaper rashes and developmental milestones.

My roommate, after attending a bridal fair with an engaged friend, is also suffering a case of mistaken identity as a bride-to-be. She gets Bride magazine, and wedding day specials are mailed to our place. This is entertaining because (whatever, I'll say it) anyone who buys pre-engagement bridal magazines is a little batty, and my roommate is so not that girl. Nevertheless, the new issue sits on our coffee table each month, reminding her boyfriend that if he were dating anyone else but J, this would be a highly inappropriate subscription.

The thought of two husbands and a child living in our 2BR, quaint-as-can-be Uptown apartment is pretty entertaining, but it won't ever culminate with me scaling Mount Rushmore while on the run from my ex-lover who I lured in under false pretenses.

Which is too bad. That would be pretty neat, and I'm way better at running in heels than Eve Marie Saint was.