2:44 p.m. - 2006-08-09
Mary Q. Citizen
A breakthrough, a small victory: I think we might -- MIGHT -- have agreed on the future Baby Funk's name.
Of course, I can't tell you what this name is, as I am sworn to secrecy, and I will no doubt be evicted from the Circle of Trust if I dare break my vow (Me: "Who'll be left in the Circle?" Joe: "Me. And Ginger." Ginger's our cat.)
Actually, come to think of it, I might have already been evicted. I seem to recall an incident last year where I ran into our friend Ryan at the grocery store one morning before work. I asked him what he was doing there at such an early hour (me, I was buying a replacement cat litter scoop for a client), and he replied, "Ummm, not buying donuts." It was hilarious, and I promised not to say anything to Amy, his wife, who woud have taken a hammer to his head if she knew that Ry Ry, junk food aficianado, was sneaking donuts four mornings a week (this estimate provided by the cashier who chatted me up about him on my way out). But, alas, I slipped, and several months later I told the story to Amy during a relevant Book Club discussion. I begged her not to chew him out, but, oh, she did, and the next day, he called Joe, and Joe called me and said I was out of the Circle of Trust. But I digress.
Anyway, I can tell you with great certainty that the name will not be Fallujah or Hezbollah, as was previously suggested to me, nor will it be from the world of pro sports (read: Champ, Cadillac, Tiki, Napoleon, Plaxico). It's... well, it's a nice name and I probably shouldn't say more than that because I'll cave, and I seriously have taken this oath to heart, for some unknown reason, having not even confirmed the name with my parents (who, I think, know, but I told them not to talk about it anymore until after the birth).
10 more weeks until the arrival of Miss Jezebel Bathsheba Funk.
