OK, I haven't actually met anyone named Horace. Yet. But I have met a whole bunch of men lately who've left me wondering, what on earth were their mothers thinking? Were women in the early 1960s secretly hoping to hinder their sons' future dating endeavors by giving them decidedly unattractive names in the hopes of keeping their little boys at home? Yes, I know, what's in a name? And if I meet a smart, interesting, charming, funny, attractive, gainfully employed man and his name is Wilbur, yes, I will get over it. Happily. But I would expect a healthy dose of mockery from my friends.
I give you the following selection of names I have encountered recently:
Howard
Harold
Myron
Marshall
Sheldon
Barnie
Leonard
Rolf
Arnie
Claude
Louie
Pim
I swear, I am not making these up. And I know it really doesn't matter. But it would take some getting used to when you want to shout your lover's name out in the heat of passion and it's the same as a large purple dinosaur. I'm just saying.
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