I have an obsession with all things personalized.
It started when I was a little kid.
My Mom had me when she was almost forty. I was the youngest of eight children and by the time I was born? Momma was all out of names.
So, she let my siblings pick my moniker. Uh-oh.
Now, when I was born, my parents had only been in this country for about four years. My siblings lead a pretty sheltered life---getting used to their new surroundings, culture, and whatnot. So, of course, when saddled with naming their "new" baby sister, they turned to the television.
The story goes that my siblings had two choices for a girl's name. I was either going to be named Sally or Sandy.
And you are never going to believe what show they chose these names from.
Lawrence freakin Welk.
Apparently, I am named after some chick who used to sing on the Lawrence Welk Show, but who left said show to become a nun. Looks like except for the name, we are NOTHING alike.
I suppose I should give thanks everyday for my siblings' choice.
Because when I was born?
My siblings and my parents weren't very well versed in the English language. So, I could have been named WAY WORSE THINGS like Lassie, Rin Tin Tin, Flipper, or Marcia Marcia Marcia---For the love of God.
Anywho, as far as I was concerned, growing up---I never liked my name.
It was a weird name...an old lady name.
And when I was eight years old and I wanted to buy a personalized license plate for my Huffy bike? It didn't happen. It wasn't available. My name wasn't cool enough for the times, I guess.
So, now---Every time I see something with my name on it? I seriously contemplate buying it. It's how I deal with the emotional scars of growing up with the same name as a flying nun and Archie Bunker's daughter.
This brings me to my latest acquisition....
Right before Christmas, Hubby and I went out for dinner to this great restaurant where my friend Jody works.
While looking at the "wines by the glass" list, I saw a Cabernet-Shiraz blend listed called Pretty Sally.
Dudes! I was so flippin thrilled (Like it was really named after me, right?)!
I turned to my husband and said, "Paul! Look! They have a wine named after me! I don't care if it tastes like fermented rat shit in a glass, I'm getting it!"
And? And? And?
I ordered it---only to find out that it was very popular and the restaurant was sold out of it. Son-of-a-bitch.
You would think that it wasn't a big deal and I would drop it, right?
I had to have it!
So, when I got home, I went online and researched where I could buy it.
Turns out that besides the restaurant, there was only one store about thirty miles away from my house that carried it.
So, I waited a couple of days (when I had some free time) and drove my happy ass to an East Bum section of Massachusetts (THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE, PEOPLE) where the lone Pretty Sally carrying liquor store stands.
And? I bought six bottles! Whoo hoo!
I gave Hubby two bottles of Pretty Sally for Christmas. And he was pretty happy because he really enjoys red wine.
Luckily, said wine received a very high rating from a reputable wine magazine, so I was sure it wouldn't taste like ass. Whew!
I gave the other bottles away as gifts.
Now, one of the people I gave a bottle to is my pal, Homer (not his real first name) LaChapelle. Of course, Homer and I have matching wits. Meaning? He can take what I dish out and vice verse. We joke around ALL THE TIME. So, when I handed the wine to Homer, I was all like, "Yeah. That's right. I am so freakin fabulous that they named a wine after me! How you like me now, Homer?"
And Homer laughed and rolled with it.
Until this Sunday...
When he left a cooler on my doorstep with some fresh little neck clams in it for me (YUM), some coconut macaroons for my Hubby (coconut is gross), and this bottle of wine:
Yeah. OK, Homer. Nice try...
My Pretty Sally bottle could totally kick your fake-out LaChapelle bottle's ass: