It’s Raining Cognomen (Hallelujah)

Customer: “What’s your name?”

Me: “Thumper.”

Customer: “Thumper?

Me: “Yeah. It’s a nickname.”

Customer: “Ooh, you’re a bunny rabbit! Can I call you Bunny?”

[Inner Me: Tell him you’d really prefer he not.]

Me: “I guess?”

[Inner Me: This is why we can’t have nice things.]

Customer: “I have a nickname, too.”

Me: “Oh? What is it?”

Customer: “Dirty Little Cum Whore.”

Me: “Wow. It… must be really hard for you to find novelty license plates in souvenir shops.”

Customer: “But my other nickname is Zinfindel. Want to know why?”

[Inner Me: Because he’s fermented?]

Me: [giggles uncontrollably]

Customer: “…?”

Me: “Um, why?”

Customer: “I’ve always wanted to be a redhead, so the first time I did drag, I decided to wear a red wig. Except I couldn’t find one, so I bought a cheap blonde wig and tried to dye it red. It came out the color of white zinfindel, so that’s what everyone calls me.”

Me: “Well, my other nickname is Marjorie. But it’s more of a middle nickname.”

Customer: “A… middle nickname?”

Me: “THUMPER MARJORIE BLANTON, GET BACK HERE THIS INSTANT.”

Customer: “Oh. Okay. Yes. That works.”

Coincidence about nicknames: I’m going on a New Warrior Training Adventure this weekend, where, among other things, I’ll be expected to adopt an animal name. I’m sure it’ll be fine and make sense in context, but at the moment, all I can think about is this white guy I met years ago at a Radical Faerie campout, who was like, “Hi! I’m Steve, but my Indian name is Running Tiger!” And I was like, “Hi, Steve! That’s a lot of wrong on a lot of levels!”

Here’s hoping the retreat won’t turn out to be a big gaggle of Steves. And that I don’t choke during the Naming Ceremony and introduce myself as Bunny. Any candles lit for either of the above will be greatly appreciated.

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