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Rantings, thoughts, diatribe. Anything that captures my interest and hangs around long enough to capture on a keyboard.

Friday, 22 January 2010

A Rose by Any Other Name

One of the things I appreciate most about having a diverse mix of friends is the different experiences I have with each of them. For example, my mate Renata is a free food magnet. Many a time I have been walking down the street with her when out of the blue, someone will offer us free food. I think she has a homing instinct similar to carrier pigeons when it comes to saving money. Another friend Lupe is a man magnet. She meets men at the rate at which most people blink. Her hectic love life makes Sex and the City seem like dating for geriatrics.

I was out with both of them last night for a night of food and frolics. Renata left early leaving me and Lupe to entertain ourselves. True to form, Lupe started chatting to two blokes on the street whilst having a fag. They came in and ended up sharing our table. As they sat down, one of them turned to me and said:

Hi, my name’s XXX

I didn’t think I’d heard right.

Excuse me; did you say your name is XXX?

Yes, that’s right.

I laughed.

But that’s my name!

You may be thinking, what’s the big deal but my name is not common. It’s the equivalent of being called Hortensia and then meeting some dude with the same name.

As the weirdness of it sunk in he told us his surname.

Get out of town, that is not your real name! was mine and Lupe’s instant reply

He shrugged and showed us his business cards.

There it was. His real name.

Oh how we laughed.

Then Lupe decided to share with us a name that she loved.

I love the name Hint. It’s just so....strong. If I had a daughter I would call her that.

As the guys stared, probably regretting their choice to join us, I told her that she must not do that to her future children. That she must not do that to anyone. Not even a pet.

But I like it.

Hortensia (the male) chipped in:

Look love, you can’t call your daughter Hint. It’s like Mint. It’s like Lint. I mean I could get it if there was some big bloke down the gym with muscles bulging out to here and he’s your trainer and he comes up to you and says Alright? The name’s Hint. I could get it then but not for a little baby girl. It’s just not right.

Duly chastened there was no further mention of that moniker for the remainder of the evening.

I fear the worst though. Poor little Hint.
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