It occurs to me that many of you dedicated Blatherscopians might not know why I claim the name "Zerd."
Well, I'll tell you. Like many choices we make as adults, this has its roots deep in my childhood. (Would this be Jung or Freud's department?)
Once upon a time, in a tiny house we will pretend was a storybook cottage, there lived four children and their parents. The children's names were Elizabeth*, Joshua, Ruth, and Luke, but they called each other Biffy, Boffy, Booffy, and Bear. (No, I am NOT making this shizz up. We really were That Awesome.) Their mother was very ill and their father needed to work long hours to pay for her care, so Elizabeth, as the eldest took over the Bossing of the Children. "Wash those dishes 'til they shine!" she'd command. "Pick up your stinky socks and underwear! Help me set the table!" Elizabeth became a big tyrant. (Don't scoff: getting someone else to set the table when you are 11-yrs-old is a Major Accomplishment.) Her first brother Boffy, who was really into dinosaurs, called her a Tyrannosaurus Rex (too bad he didn't know Latin--as a female, I was a Tyrannosaurus Regni). Her second brother Bear, though, was satisfied to call her Lizard to her scaly face (and by "scaly", I mean sublimely soft and prepubescently perfect; ah, skin that has yet to know the agony of pimples! But I digress; back to the story). Wee Boofy, however, couldn't quite say either insulting nickname: Tyranasaurus Rex came out "Ree-ranus X" and Lizard got shortened to "Zerd." And it sounded so cute in Booffy's little mouth that it became a term of endearment. And the children held hands and danced in a circle singing, knowing that nothing could harm them as long as they remembered to be kind to one another.
Yup. That's why I prefer "Zerd." It's all true (except for that last sentence, which is just there because Disney paid me to end that way).
*I had three more years to go before adolescent rebelliousness made me permenently tattoo the extra "e" in the middle of my name. Watch the transformation: boring, uncool "Elizabeth" + extra "e"=hip, sassy "Elizaebeth." Oh, yeah, babies. Yeah.
Well, I'll tell you. Like many choices we make as adults, this has its roots deep in my childhood. (Would this be Jung or Freud's department?)
Once upon a time, in a tiny house we will pretend was a storybook cottage, there lived four children and their parents. The children's names were Elizabeth*, Joshua, Ruth, and Luke, but they called each other Biffy, Boffy, Booffy, and Bear. (No, I am NOT making this shizz up. We really were That Awesome.) Their mother was very ill and their father needed to work long hours to pay for her care, so Elizabeth, as the eldest took over the Bossing of the Children. "Wash those dishes 'til they shine!" she'd command. "Pick up your stinky socks and underwear! Help me set the table!" Elizabeth became a big tyrant. (Don't scoff: getting someone else to set the table when you are 11-yrs-old is a Major Accomplishment.) Her first brother Boffy, who was really into dinosaurs, called her a Tyrannosaurus Rex (too bad he didn't know Latin--as a female, I was a Tyrannosaurus Regni). Her second brother Bear, though, was satisfied to call her Lizard to her scaly face (and by "scaly", I mean sublimely soft and prepubescently perfect; ah, skin that has yet to know the agony of pimples! But I digress; back to the story). Wee Boofy, however, couldn't quite say either insulting nickname: Tyranasaurus Rex came out "Ree-ranus X" and Lizard got shortened to "Zerd." And it sounded so cute in Booffy's little mouth that it became a term of endearment. And the children held hands and danced in a circle singing, knowing that nothing could harm them as long as they remembered to be kind to one another.
Yup. That's why I prefer "Zerd." It's all true (except for that last sentence, which is just there because Disney paid me to end that way).
*I had three more years to go before adolescent rebelliousness made me permenently tattoo the extra "e" in the middle of my name. Watch the transformation: boring, uncool "Elizabeth" + extra "e"=hip, sassy "Elizaebeth." Oh, yeah, babies. Yeah.
2 comments:
Your extra 'e' is cool, and oh so scandahoovian.
Ina desperate plea to somehow carve a scrap or originality out of my stoopid name, I became Jeni in highschool. JENI. One N!
How embarrassing is that?
You could be "Jemni"--you know, like "mneumonic." Thanks for posting, sweetie:)
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