What’s in a name?

I guess if there is a down side to my marrying Max, it would be this: I don’t like his last name. At least when coupled with my first name, it has a funny ring to it.

I’m quite happy with Mandy, thank you very much. Although Max doesn’t insist that I take his name, he finds one teeny tiny problem with my current one. It actually belongs to my ex-husband. I never got around to changing it after our divorce. The pairing, Diane and Mandy, has a nice sound to it. And since I had been using it professionally for over 10 years, changing it seemed like a bad idea at the time.

“Why don’t you take your maiden name back? I like your maiden name.” Max asked trying to be helpful.

He is a dear to suggest it, but quite honestly, Gerasimov, my original surname and of Russian origin, doesn’t really float my boat either. In fact, having a five-syllable, completely ethnic last name brought my siblings and I nothing but trouble back in rural Franklin County, Virginia, our home and land of Brown, Jones, Williams, Smith, and Flora. It wasn’t easy to spell; it wasn’t easy to pronounce. In high school, I wouldn’t have a chance at being popular with a name like Gerasimov. Class officer? Homecoming Queen? Who’d vote for me with a name like this?

Of course, Gerasimov surpassed, by leaps and bounds, my first husband’s surname, Weeble. Yes, I know-- “Weebles wobble, but they don’t fall down.” If I heard it once, I heard it a million times. The name, alone, proves I that married foolishly because it certainly wasn’t an improvement over my family name. Most importantly, while Weebles don't fall down, their marriages can certainly fall apart. Mercifully, I only lived as a Weeble for five years.

So with this marriage, Max’s name will be my fourth name in 20 years. And even though by taking it I’ll probably be asked if I know someone who’s being unlawfully held in Guantanamo Bay right now—it’s worth it. I may hate the name, but I love the man that comes along with it.