Grabbing Starbucks drinks with my friend Atticus yesterday, I distinctly remember what he said when the beaming cashier asked, "Can I have a name?"
"Alex," Atticus said, muttering to me, "it's my fast food name, don't ask."
"Your fast food name?" I snorted derisively, and stammered out "Uhhh, could I get an orange mango smoothie?" to the cashier. She asked for a name. "Adora," I said, enunciating (I thought) very clearly.
Her eyebrows furrowed in bemusement.
"Andora?" she asked, Sharpie tip wavering over the plastic cup.
"No, Adora--never mind," I said, and waved. She wrote down Andora. I winced. A little part of me died. That extraordinarily microscopic little part of me that is captured by the nonexistence of an "n" between A and D, the "ttic" and nonexistence of a "lex" part Atticus must kill off every time he orders fast food, the "anna" that performs a Lazarus-like death and resurrection when my sister Adrianna hangs out with her friends ("Adri") and returns home.
So, for that tired old question, what's in a name? Shakespeare wrote "a rose by any other name would smell as sweet," but I personally like being Adora, a name born at the intersection of a lazy decision that Isadora (after the mother of modern dance, Isadora Duncan, whose biography my mom finished some time when she was pregnant with me) was too long a name, and a stroke of genius by my dad that "Adora" was a nice name. Aurora is too blonde Disney princess-esque, Andorra more reminiscent of the tiny rocky outcropping of a European country, and Dora? Well...I can only think of the love interest in David Copperfield.
Or this girl.
Screw having a fast food name.
"Alex," Atticus said, muttering to me, "it's my fast food name, don't ask."
"Your fast food name?" I snorted derisively, and stammered out "Uhhh, could I get an orange mango smoothie?" to the cashier. She asked for a name. "Adora," I said, enunciating (I thought) very clearly.
Her eyebrows furrowed in bemusement.
"Andora?" she asked, Sharpie tip wavering over the plastic cup.
"No, Adora--never mind," I said, and waved. She wrote down Andora. I winced. A little part of me died. That extraordinarily microscopic little part of me that is captured by the nonexistence of an "n" between A and D, the "ttic" and nonexistence of a "lex" part Atticus must kill off every time he orders fast food, the "anna" that performs a Lazarus-like death and resurrection when my sister Adrianna hangs out with her friends ("Adri") and returns home.
So, for that tired old question, what's in a name? Shakespeare wrote "a rose by any other name would smell as sweet," but I personally like being Adora, a name born at the intersection of a lazy decision that Isadora (after the mother of modern dance, Isadora Duncan, whose biography my mom finished some time when she was pregnant with me) was too long a name, and a stroke of genius by my dad that "Adora" was a nice name. Aurora is too blonde Disney princess-esque, Andorra more reminiscent of the tiny rocky outcropping of a European country, and Dora? Well...I can only think of the love interest in David Copperfield.
Or this girl.
Remember...Dora the explorer HAS METAPHORICAL RESONANCE to your life. Also good job you actually posted on your blog :D
ReplyDeleteWhy not print yourself some TedxRaymond business cards with your name and show one to the server whenever there's any doubt
ReplyDelete