What's in a name?

When I was in eighth grade, I had a teacher named Mrs. Wheezer. For real. She didn't actually wheeze but she really fit her name and that always kind of scared me. She wore really odd clothes and spoke in a strange way with her fingers and she had very large glasses and wore sandals with yellow toe nails.

Then I had a regular substitute teacher all through elementary and middle school. Her name was Mrs. Stanky. No joke. Poor woman. She also fit her name. She was short, wore a wig and wore short polyester pants. For the love! She was clueless and the bratty kids I went to school with always called her Mrs. Stinky. Stinky, Stanky, seriously, is one really worse then the other?

Here's my point and yes I have one. They were both Mrs. They weren't born with those last names, no. They grew into those names. (And a shudder goes through all the single girls who read this.) What if I do get married? What if he does have the worst last name in the world? What if I grow into his last name like the way those women did? I'm sure as young girls they didn't think, "Hey when I grow up I'm going to wear a really bad wig and polyester pants that don't fit and I'll never bother with breath mints."

All I'm saying is that, if it comes down to it, I'll settle for keeping my maiden name if his is really that bad. Given the choice of what's worse to be made fun of Colleen Maloney (Bologna), Colleen Stanky, Colleen Wheezer. Yup, I'll settle for Oscar Meyer's famous piece of processed meat, thanks.