But: even though do I know
your face it's entirely possible I may have no effin' clue who you
are. Let's say that happens around 4.38 percent of the time. And
about 1.8 percent of the time I have absolutely no clue whatsoever
who the hell you are or how you know me.
And that's not all. Even when I
remember your name, I may not remember it exactly. Especially if your
name is either “Kristen” or “Kirsten.” Really? Do we need
names this closely constructed? Seems like a waste of good nameage to
have two names this similar. Look. I know who you are and I know its
a choice of one of the two, and I'll probably screw it up at some
point, so can you just accept that and be gracious? I know it's one
of those, okay? I may just not be sure about which one is all. And to
make it this much worse, the Kirstens have the pronunciation choice
of either “KURR-sten” or “KEER-sten.” This is, as ruled by
the Supreme Court, abuse of nomenclature.
My proffered solution to this
lexicographical transposition is change them both to the same thing.
Find some middle ground. “Kisten”? I dunno; just doesn't work for
me.
I prefer “Krirsten.” Try it a
few times, it will grow on you. (“Krirsten.” “Krirsten.”) A
name, by the way, which sounds even better when you utter it in a
time of both extreme intimacy and serious physical exertion. The
multiple “R”s make it sound like you're growling. (All
“Krirstens” love that.)
But the Krirstenage problem is
nothing compared to . . . your friends splitting up and re-attaching
themselves to new partners. This could hold the most potential for
embarrassment.
Maybe this is because I've never
been divorced, but you know those couples who've been around since
for-fucking-ever?? Like oh, say, Barb and Tony. You've always known
“Barb and Tony,” right? It's always been “Barb 'n' Tony,”
right? Barb 'n' Tony. Barb 'n' Tony.
After a while it becomes a euphonic
mantra, a “Samneric” phenomena. Barb 'n' Tony are a couple who
used to be real, separate people but now exist only as metaphysical
Siamese twins and whose names have illustrated that spiritual melding
by themselves blending into one word. “Barb 'n' Tony.” “Barb
'n' fuckin' Tony.”
So then (whoops) Tony does a runner
cuz he worked for Enron or BP or he emailed all of Emeril's secret
recipes to Wikileaks and whaddya know a year or so later it becomes
not “Barb 'n' Tony” anymore but “Barb 'n' Lars.” And you get
together with them about six times a year for a couple years, and
you're being careful to remember that the guy is Lars. Lars.
LARS. And of course (because you knew it would happen sooner
or later) one day, because whoopsidaisy you just forgot to be
careful, you introduce them as “Barb 'n' Tony.” And everyone
looks like you're a prime asshole. Which technically you kinda are,
face it.
But you know what? The lineups
change so much these days you (a) can't keep track, and (b) shit
happens. And ultimately it comes down to (c) “Barb 'n' Lars” just
not sounding all that good in the first place.
If “Barb 'n' Lars” were actually
a real word it would be “barbinlars,” as in:
“Honey, did you remember the
barbinlars on the way home? We need to shleem the fartznogg this
weekend.”
Barbinlar's Cockatoo, found only
on the north face of Mount Kilimanjaro.
“Barbinlars. Straightens
out your erectile dysfunction problem.”
What's even weirder is that all of
Lars's friends (say that out loud: Lars's) call them “Larsinbarb.”
Make up your own meanings.
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