A Rose By Any Other Name

My brother used to be the king of nicknames. He gave just about everybody nicknames. I don't know if he had one for me or Mary, but everybody else seemed to get one. He gave nicknames to everybody in a family that lived down the road. The mother drove a school bus, so her name was Bus 4. The daughter was one of those girls who liked black eye-liner. The blacker and thicker the better. So her name was Coon, since she always looked like she had a little black mask like a raccoon. Her brother was one of those annoying people that can't let you say anything without coming up with a better story. Except all his stories were about his dad. If you bought a motorcycle, his dad used to have a better one. If you went deer hunting and killed a deer, his dad killed a bigger one. Ever other sentence he said started with "My dad" so that was his name.

The dad had the best nickname. He had about as much hair as Homer Simpson, so my brother christened him Mellonhead. No problem there. That name fit him perfectly. We all called him Mr. Mellonhead. Then my husband and I moved up here from the city. My husband constantly heard us talking about Mr. Mellonhead. Then one day Mr. Mellonhead stopped at my brother's house to ask him a question about something while we were over there. My husband walked up and introduced himself. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Mellonhead," he said. I don't know what Mr. Mellonhead thought. He never said anything about it, just talked to my brother for a minute and then went on home. We all about died laughing. When we explained that Mr. Mellonhead wasn't really his name my husband wasn't amused.