Ever make an assumption about someone or something based on their name? I’m terrible about it. I do it all the time. In my defense, I’m a writer, and I happen to develop pretty much all of my fictional characters beginning with a name. I’ve written entire stories around a name. (LaRonda Pettibone is one of them.) Names make pictures in my head, and we all know that’s no place for decent people, so I’ll admit the flaw and apologize for it openly.
The subject of names has come up frequently since we got the truck re-painted. George has never been fond of calling her “The Precious.” That was my thing, he let me have it for a couple of years, but he’s not having vinyl cut for it again.
George: “No.”
Me: “Why not?”
George: “Because I’m not calling her that any more.”
Me: “Why not?!?”
George: “Babe, I know what the name means to you, but not everyone is a Lord of the Rings fan and I’m tired of rolling down the road with a flaming truck that says “The Precious” on it. You should see some of the looks I get.”
Me: “Oh come on. That was only once in Boise, and who knew it was Gay Pride week? It’s not like we planned to be there or anything…”
George: “We’re not calling her The Precious anymore.”
I conceded, and agreed that he should be able to name the truck something that reflects how he feels about it. I’m concerned for the vinyl placement of “Please Kill Me Now.” We’ll have to be prudent with that one. I kid! He loves that truck as much as I do. Almost. I don’t know what he’s going to call her, but I’m happy with trading a new Greg Stahl paint job for the title of The Precious. I also realize I’m extremely lucky to have a husband who puts up with my whims and doesn’t question my sanity (too much) when he hears me talking to myself in my office about someone named Esmerelda Lollipop, or Patience McPherson.
Stay tuned. Film at eleven.
