See, now I call poo poo on Shakespeare with this one. Because if someone came up to me with a rose and said hey, check out this new rose variety called Diarrhea Coffee-Breath Fart Locker Delight—take a sniff! I probably wouldn’t register the same sweet smell as I would had it been called Lady Delight Pink Vintage Tea Rose. Am I right?
So you can imagine my dismay over the fact that Bryan and I cannot seem to agree on a name for the little lemon-sized baby in mah belly. (Somehow I don’t think I can call it Mister Man forever.) And if you don’t help me with this and suggest some rockstar names STAT, Bryan is going to keep pushing Conrad and Allistair. Or Texas. TEXAS. We have never been to Texas, have no affiliation with Texas, don’t even particularly like Tex-Mex, so I don’t know where this name is coming from. Next thing you know the name Randy will be in the running and I absolutely refuse to yell Conrad Allistair Texas Randy across a playground.
So here are the rules: there aren’t any, really. I like unconventional names, but classic is good, too. You might already know the worst-kept secret in the blogisphere, aka what our last name is, but if not it starts with an M and is two syllables. Stay away from names like Ethan because Ethan has whispy pube facial hair and everyone knows Laird takes photos of his bowel movements and emails them to his friends. Help me name this baby. Go!