By Any Other Name

An acquaintance of ours recently had a baby, a girl, and I mentioned to my daughter that they'd named it Martha.

"That's a fat name," she said.

"A phat name?" said I.

"Like Brenda, or Gloria, or Abby," said she. "A fat name."

A bit slow on the uptake, with an audible Phhht! my synapses suddenly fired.

"Ohhh, a fat name," I replied. "Like, the name of somebody who's fat."

I felt like I'd secured the $32,000 level on "Who Wants To Be A Millionaire." My daughter stared at me a nanosecond longer than usual before her eyes rolled up into their sockets. And no, she wasn't having a seizure. It's that involuntary adolescent twitch she's been battling. For well over a year now. Unsuccessfully, I might add.

It got me thinking (another audible Phhht!). About the shelflife of names. These days, who in their right mind would name a newborn baby Harold? Or Rodney? Or Phyllis? I mean, I'd rather be stuck in an elevator full of Madisons and Coopers than one lone Ralph. You can pretty much guess what a Madison's MO will be without jeopardizing too much gray matter. But a Ralph would be highly unpredictable. There's no telling what a Ralph might do.

To begin with, a Ralph is probably pissed off about the name. And you can just imagine the kind of background a Ralph comes from. What sort of parents would name a newborn baby Ralph? The kind who'd have named it Eunice as an alternative. Come to think of it, have I ever actually known a Ralph? I have known a Harold. And a Rodney. And a Phyllis. Guess which two were fat names.

As for myself, I always wanted to be a Leslie. Leslie was my fantasy name. Yeah, yeah, I know. Obviously a spaz name for a boy. But I'm not a boy. Yet.

When I was my daughter's age, I used to lie in bed at night fantasizing I was a famous teenage movie star named Leslie. Just that single name, like Cher, or Bozo. I had hair past my waist and a horse and lived in a mansion in California with my ten brothers and sisters. I was very famous and very cute but too young to date. I spent my time swimming in an enormous pool that completely encircled my mansion and making movies. Periodically a handsome bystander would have to rescue me from some disaster. The disasters included, but were not limited to, tidal waves, earthquakes, cyclones, tornadoes, and kidnappers. The handsome bystander always fell in love with me as he carried me, always unconscious, from the jaws of death. But it was always in vain, because, as stated, I was too young to date.

This is the kind of fantasy life only a person with my actual name could conjure up. Which is sort of a book name. A bags-under-the-eyes-from- too-much-reading name. Possibly a spinster-aunt-with-ink-stained-fingers name. You get the idea. It's certainly not a name one would lie in bed fantasizing about. Unless perhaps one were named Eunice.

And what about all these girls named Michael? Or Darrel? Or Hunter? What's up with that? Maybe I missed something, but I'd call those squirreled-out- of-your-ever-loving-mind names. Does-the-word-postpartum-depression- mean-anything-to-you? names. In fact, I'll bet $32,000 there's at least one female Ralph out there. And I'd give anything to meet a girl named Stanley. Hey I know, let's start naming our boys Debbie, or Joy.

Where was I? Oh yeah, fat names.

I thought it was an interesting observation on my daughter's part (bordering on creative genius), but I disagree with her examples. For instance, I wouldn't consider Brenda a fat name. Or Gloria. Margaret, maybe. Ethel, for sure. But then, my daughter and I are a generation or three removed from one another. I have trouble imagining how the world looks to a girl her age. Or so she reminds me. On a daily basis. Make that hourly.

I wonder if my daughter has a fantasy name. I'd ask her, but I'm not up for another faux seizure just now. Sometimes all the eye-rolls and the What-EVer!s and the Were you alive when (fill in the blank with the pre-1920 event of your choice)?s finally get to me, and I crave the self-centered naivete of my childfree days. Crave it like a drug. Of the Class A narcotic variety. Of course, by my age, one has figured out that the drug thing doesn't really work, either. Not that this changes anything, per se. Hey...what about Per Se. A sort of female version of Percy. It's pretty phat. And definitely not fat.