For the longest of long times, I have wanted to name my future son Max. It’s a good name. A fun name. You can pretty easily imagine the mischievous and disarming grin of a Max.
Jeremy does not like the name Max.
I tried, campaigned, cajoled and hoped but to no avail. When is it ever to an avail? Jeremy does not, will not, cannot possibly like the name Max.
Compromise is the most annoying thing about marriage. Sometimes I really miss unilateral decision making.
“OK”, I said to Jeremy, “what names do you like?”
“Trucker.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Trucker!”
“Trucker?”
“Trucker!!”
“That’s not a name.” “Sure it is. Trucker!”
Pretty much every objection or question was answered by a jubilant “Trucker!” As if it were not only a name but the solution to all things.
We are not naming our son Trucker.
I haven’t yet been able to figure out if Jeremy is taking the piss or not. I mean, he can’t actually think that’s an acceptable name – can he? Surely this is all just a big hoax to wind me up and make me question his sanity. I think I’m doomed to never be sure.
I also suspect that somehow, no matter what actual name our son is given, he’ll somehow wind up being known as Trucker.
Remember Tronald?
