Friday, September 24, 2010
I have a friend who is really called Jane but goes by the name of Charlotte. She changed it at 16, and now she is in her 30s and hates it when her mum calls her Jane in front of other people. My name is Felicity but I call myself Clare.
What's strange about these shapeshifting non-names that are not really ours is not that our parents gave us them, but that when we decided to go by fresh new monikers (no, not Monique) we didn't choose racier, cooler, more interesting tags. Charlotte/Jane once wanted to be called Cherry. I tried Elizabeth on for size. But what of India, Savannah, and Star? What of Isla, Bree and Kevina? Whatevs, peeps: clearly the best name is Violet.
At Eveleigh markets this morning before work I happened upon a tiny bunch of these treasures. Their season - sinfully short:one tiny month - is just about over. Rare and pretty beyond compare, Violets are my favourite flowers, just as Violet is my all-time favourite name.
As Monique who works in my store said when I showed them to her, "Violets rock. Violets kick other flowers' butts". And yes, Monique is her real name.
Posted by Mrs Press at 7:26 PM