You're who again?

Over the past couple of years, we've had sort of an open door policy with whatever missionaries have served in our area. We like them to have a place they feel like they can come whenever they like, sort of a home away from home. We've made very good friends with many of these young men. We've even sort of adopted a few who don't actually serve in our ward but were friends with the ones who did, so they end up at our house as well. My kids have loved this constant stream of missionaries, and overall it's been a great thing for everyone involved.
Lots of these guys talk about how much they love the Carnegies, and how when they get off their missions they're going to come back and visit, maybe stay a few days, and how we'll always be friends. Want to know how many have actually come back? Not one. It's become a running joke with us. Every time someone gets transferred out, we tell them flat out we'll never see them again and it was nice knowing them. You say you're coming back to visit us sometime? Nope, not buying it. You'll forget about us before your next Sunday dinner in someone else's home or by the time you're at cruising altitude on your plane ride home.
There was an elder that my kids called by his first name (his choice). He was in our ward for 6 months, was over on average three times a week, and went home from our ward. He got married less than 6 months after getting home, and even though he talked a big game, didn't even send us a wedding invitation!
There was another guy who talked about us all the time to his mother and his girlfriend back home. We were even in contact with his girlfriend (we played a great prank on him right before he got transferred with her help). Have we heard from him since then? Of course not.
Now there are two guys who were here a while back who are still out serving that we do actually hear from every now and then. We get occasional phone calls and e-mails from them. Boyce even called to wish Becca a happy birthday. But they are certainly the exception. Mostly, no matter how much they treat our house as home, once they're gone, they're dead to us. I don't want anyone to think I'm complaining about this. I find it rather humorous. It really is a running joke.
If we ever did actually have one come to visit us after their mission, I'm afraid I'd say something like, "I'm sorry, you're who again?"

Fizzy joys for today: fleece pajama bottoms, lots of clean laundry, children who can and do take care of themselves.