Choosing Names

Articles

Holly Winter
Living The Life Of Holly

Choosing Names
Apr. 7, 2003

“Really? You would write about me in one of your columns?” Rich asked, buttering another piece of toast.

“I might.” I said, coyly.

“Wow. I would be famous!” He said.

“Of course you would be. People all over the world would know you as Holly’s good friend. How will you handle your new fame? I asked.

“I think that I would buy some new sunglasses. And maybe a red convertible.”

“Oh. Good. A subtle star.” I mumbled while biting into my burrito.

“And everywhere I go people would want to know all about you. Oh. I could surely dish some dirt about you, couldn’t I?” He asked, unwrapping his burrito and lathering the tortilla in butter.

“You really do gross me out. In case you were ever wondering.” I said.

“Back to me.” He said, opening a sugar packet for his coffee. “What name would you use for me?” He asked.

”You get to choose. Do you want your real name, or a made up name?”

“My real name.”

“Ok. Rich or Otto. I call you Rich, but your other friends call you Otto.”

“True. Well. Do your other friends use their real names?”

“Most have made up names. Shelby is a made up name, so is Lanie. Ralph is the real name. Wayne wants his name in there so badly that he has encouraged me to make up fake stuff about him, just so that he could get more column space.

“You are going to make up stuff about Wayne?” He asked, appalled.

“Believe me. I don’t have to make up stuff about him. We dated long enough for a mini- series.” I said.

“What about Darlin-man. Who chose that name?”

“Oh. I did. He chose ‘Supermongostudmuffin’ I worried that it might be a bit tedious, you know. Typing Supermongostudmuffin over and over again. You know how my years of living down South left me calling every one…”

“Darlin-boy” He cut in. “Yes. Does that bug Supermongostudmuffin that you call everyone Darlin-boy?”

“I think that he is getting used to it.” I said. “So in my writing I call him Darlin-man. See. He is the only man alive that I call Darlin- man.”

“Oh my God!” He said. “How does he handle that? I prefer his name.”

“You mean his real name?”

“No. His chosen name. Supermongostudmuffin. Really. It is so catchy. Remind me to call him that the next time I see him.”

“You have never met him.”

“Oh. But when I do, should I call him Supermongo for short? Or would Studmuffin be better? I don’t know how to shorten his name. I have to figure this out. Help me!”

“I guess that Darlin-man doesn’t work for you?”

“No.”

“And friends do have the privilege to his ‘real’ name.” I said.

“No. After Supermongostudmuffin, any real name would bore me.” He sad, sadly.

“You could call him the doctor. Many people refer to him that way.”

“No. That would really bore me. Really. I have always wanted to know a guy whose name started with the name Super who wasn’t a part of a grocery store chain.”

“Wow. I can see that your first meeting with him is going to be really super.” I said, doubtfully.

He laughed. And unwrapped his next burrito so that he could butter it. Um. Yeah. Trying to annoy me.

We were at our favorite diner in Kingston, NY. We meet at this dive whenever I am passing through town. We always say that we will find a new place, but our undying curiosity lures us back time and time again. I mean. Come on. What is hiding in these tortillas?

“Is this an onion or a potato?” He asked.

“I think that is a piece of cheese that hasn’t melted yet.” I tried to assure him.

“Oh. Man. It’s so good.” He said, rolling his eyes upwards.

We got back to the topic of names. “You know. Wayne actually went through each of my columns without reading them.” I said.

“Why?” He asked.

“He counted how many times Ralph’s and Darlin- man’s names were used.”

“Darlin-man? Oh. You mean Supermongostudmuffin! Ok. Continue…”

“He says that since he has known me longer, his name should be used more frequently. ”

“Well. Can’t you find ways to trash Wayne?”

“Maybe.” I said, chewing on something crunchy that I was hoping was an uncooked piece of onion.

Rich sat up. “Hey. Wait a minute.” He said, getting excited.

“What.”

“You have known me far longer than either of them.” He said.

“So.”

“We lived together for years while you were going through college. I remember you paling over exams. I helped you choose your clothes for your hot dates. I have celebrated holidays with you. I should be mentioned far more often than Wayne, Ralph or Supermongostudmuffin. Your columns should all be about me, me, me!” He shouted, slamming his hand down on the table, which brought our waitress running. She thought that we must need more salsa again. (We did.)

“Hey. I only tell the truth in my columns. This isn’t called, Living The Lying Life of Holly.” I said, biting into my breakfast invention again.

“I don’t care, as long as I get the most name mentions in your columns.” He said, competitively.

So. While the various men in my life seem to be vying for mentions in my column, I can’t help but wonder if it is beef or chicken in my breakfast burrito. Cause. If you ask me, naming the meat in my breakfast might be way more important than trying to name the friends in my columns.

But. Now. Let’s not tell my friends, OK?

About the author: Holly Winter is a teacher and a writer and a flight attendant living in Denver, Colorado, USA. She can be reached at her website or email: Holly@livingthelifeofholly.com

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