Getting pregnant can be a traumatic thing, and I'm sure many a mom-to-be have found themselves crying over an adult beverage or two. It's probably more common than we think. Spend a day at the mall, watching the barely coherent and intellectually void population as they push drooling spawn in smelly strollers, and you may be able to calculate the ratio of prenatal alcohol consumption in relation to the confused vacancy of the expression. It's natural to get pissed about an unplanned pregnancy, but please, ladies--when you are mourning the loss of your youth, figure and sanity over fire water in a mason jar, don't brainstorm baby names. Names like Brandy (Brandi) and Sherry (Sherri) evoke plastic covered furniture and wood paneling, the stale essence of century old cigarette smoke and pork rinds. The only acceptable names derived from alcohol are for drag queens, such as the Lady Chablis.
Also, when searching for names as a ravenously hungry pregster, don't take inspiration from your cravings. Names like Candy (Candi) are not sweet. Ginger is an appropriate name for a cocker spaniel, or a Spice Girl, not for an infant. Naming your kid after cheese should be criminal, just ask any Colby. Would you name a kid Cheddar? Gouda? And who takes Gabrielle and slices it into Brie? Bleh. Names taken from herbs are a flashback to the days of hippies and their misguided theories of childrearing--Rosemary, Sage, they make me think of girls who'd rather be a Jennifer so they could find their name in the display of personalized pens and post-its at the stationary store (consequently, the store that also sells stickers by the square, and those little animal figurines stuck on the paper square, I wish I still had my calico cats and unicorns!)
Nostalgic for Newmarket North,
Kells
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment