My Name Is...

I know it's poor character to be excited everytime my neighbor does something dumb and annoying because then I can blog about it, but there ought to be some upside to it, right?
Today's tale begins with an envelope with my name on it being dropped off in the mailbox that is shared by both units of this duplex. My neighbor only seems to pick up her mail once a week, so as the days of the week go by and her credit card statements from mall stores pile up ever higher, it gets to be kind of a drag slogging through all her accumulating mail to make sure I don't miss anything of mine. I admit I'm a geek, but getting the mail is one of the small things I look forward to everyday and I don't get why someone would let it pile up all week. (suppose if my mail was all credit card bills I might not be so excited, but I wouldn't want my nosy neighbor looking at them all either)
The envelope that was dropped off for me was put in the mailbox after I had collected what the postman had delivered on Friday and before the woman downstairs, who I have come to silently address by a variety of unbecoming names in my head, did her weekly trek to the curb to pick up her mail.
I checked the mailbox on Saturday and my envelope was not there. I checked again on Sunday. It was still not there. I checked the mail this afternoon, and sure enough, the envelope was not there, so I got in touch with the person who was supposed to leave the envelope and confirmed that the envelope was indeed put in the box on Friday afternoon.
I figured the neighbor must have unintentionally taken it along with all her other mail, so I left a note on her door to ask if she happened to have an envelope with my name on it. Shortly she got home, she came up to my door with the envelope in hand. As she handed it over she explained that she hadn't known whose it was. I told her if there is mail she is not sure about she can just put it back into the mailbox. Then she told me that she didn't remember my name so she didn't know the envelope was mine. And I told her once again, as I walked away from the door and back to fixing dinner, my name is Pam. I was tempted to point out that it's only three letters and pretty easy to remember. The woman has been living in the downstairs unit of this duplex since June. We share a mailbox. I have told her my name three times before because she said she forgot it. I'm trying to figure out if she is just incredibly dim or if she's trying to be snotty by "forgetting" my name. I'm starting to think either way, she is incredibly dim.