Basically: This was supposed to run somewhere and I believe it’s not now. But dammit, someone’s going to read this. So here it goes:
We’re brought up to believe that our parents want us to go further in life than they ever did.
Yet when a parent names their child something that might incite strokes for the tongues of anyone who dares attempt to pronounce their faux-French names should we still believe that to be true?
I’m beginning to think parents have declared some sort of secret war on their offspring. It’s as if new mommies and daddies want to screw over their kids and cause human resources to instantly get a whiff of Lawry’s and Louisiana Hot Sauce the second one of their poorly named children submits a resume.
Of course, some of these children still manage to land jobs. Just the other day I came across a bank teller named Classic. Perhaps he was conceived at the State Fair Classic and his parents want that special memory to live on.
Wherever the source of his name stems from Classic has it a lot better than Jacorolynstans Onassis. Yes, that’s an actual name. I saw it in the program for my cousin’s high school graduation. I waited anxiously to see the announcer shed light on how you actually say her name out loud without taking a lunch break in between. Jacorolynstans didn’t show up, though, so to this day that mystery remains unsolved.
It gets worse than that…far, far worse.
Anytime I post about any distinctive name on Twitter and I’m instantly amassed with replies from followers who can top me.
“I got [a] cousin named “Unique Petal Lloyd.”
“[I] saw a chick working at Target named L’Oreal.”
“I graduated high school with a Starburshia. Apparently, my friend knows a Shadynasty (SHA-DYNASTY).”
“I went to school with a dude named Success. He wasn’t very successful.”
In L’Oreal’s defense, she may be Creole.