Read Time: 01:27
It had been two years since I talked to one of my best friends from college and that’s how I found out she had had the baby. So of course I ask what’s the baby’s name and she says, “Tiegen.”
And I think OK, so that’s how that’s going.
***
I’m at the wedding of a good friend, Lisa, whose brother, Tom, is officiating. When I meet Tom, I understand that he is gay. A plot twist is introduced, however, when I later meet his wife (a lifestyle blogger) and their child.
Afterwards, I ask my friend Lisa, “What’s your brother’s kid’s name again?” And she says, “Isla Skye.”
I muster incredulousness to remain polite. “Ah. That’s a family name?”
“No. It’s a fucking blogger name.”
***
I was probably ten years old before I realized that Margaret and Aunt Peggy were the same person.
***
Six calendar days before her wedding, an announcement made on slices of printer paper in Arial font arrived through the mail: the event was off. Even the bridesmaids received the news this way.
Uncomfortably soon after, the bride-to-be married a different man who happened to be a billionaire, but no bridesmaids were involved. Their charming story was printed up on glossy magazine paper and distributed, and they talked about how they named their first-born son after their favorite Underground stop in London.
What a hoot it must have been to ride the Underground!
***
On the last girls’ trip, a wife had her sons’ names tattooed in very fine script under her arm, where even a bathing suit or a bra would cover them.
The husband knew some things about the girls’ trips, but he didn’t know her friends inspected the garbage can in his wife’s bathroom after her trainer would leave.
That which is named cannot really hide, and although hiding is usually very obvious, no one acted as though this were true.
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