The Brunette One

Names have always been an obsession of mine. From the time when I was in second grade and horrified to see the entire church full of elementary school students turn to gawk at me when we reached the station of the cross where Veronica wipes the face of Jesus. I was convinced there was something "wrong" with my name at this point, and I began noticing (in a bad way) that no one else shared my name.

I also had a weird (and unrelated) habit of taking a 70s-era goldenrod colored pillowcase and putting the open end around my head like a headband, wrapping a rubberband around the extra fabric at the back of my neck, and letting the pillowcase cascade down my back like beautiful, golden locks of blonde hair. I knew, without a doubt, that blonde girls were where it's at, and my brown hair was holding me back in more ways than one.

When I wore this hideous golden pillowcase as a head of hair, my name was invariably Tiffany or Allison, which were names that were given only to rich blonde girls. Veronica was a name that no one else had and one that made kids turn around and gawk at you when you were a child who did not want to be gawked at. Plus, everyone told me that Veronica was the mean one and Betty was the nice one that Archie should really be with.

Long story short, I now love my name and wouldn't trade it for any other name in the world. I feel special and beautiful because it is my name. I was angry when there was another Veronica in my class when I transferred to Yale Public Schools in the 6th grade, and I was none too pleased to discover that there was another Veronica at my last place of employment. I have become accustomed to being the only Veronica in a crowd, and it is a wonderful feeling.

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And now I worry about what to name my children. Okay, I have always worried about what to name my children. I know, from experience, that a child's name has a huge effect on his or her life, whether for the positive or the negative. I want my children to have names that are beautiful, regal, not hugely common, and extremely meaningful. And I have a list of those kinds of names, all ready to consider.

The problem is (I'm sure the clever amongst you have already guessed it), Jeremy does not ... how do you say? ... care for these names. Okay, he hates most of them.

And the list of names that Jeremy is adamant his children will one day have? I despise them. For obvious reasons, I will not include lists of names that one or the other of us find repulsive, but this discrepancy in name preferences is one that has had me in a tizzy for years.

Lately it seems even more crucial that we either find new names that we both like or for me to find a way to hypnotize Jeremy in order for him to love the names on my list and disregard the names on his own. No, I am not announcing a pregnancy, but I surely hope it will happen sooner than later, and the tape I have been playing next to Jeremy's head while he sleeps that repeats the names I like over and over while interspersed with his favorite sports highlights doesn't seem to be working.

For the time being, we are both trying to be open-minded, but ... well, to be honest, I hope I win!