The name game

Yesterday KP and I were at the running store looking for gear. He, of course, was running about with reckless abandon. One of the sales ladies asked him if he would build a Lego tower with her, to ensure at least a small sale instead of only a clean up in the running shoe isle.

They sat down and started to build.

Sales lady: So, do you have any brother’s or sisters?

KP: Yes, I have a CT and a PJ.

Sales lady: Ohhh, hmmm, I’m trying to figure out…are those cats or dogs?

KP: CT is brother and PJ is sister.

Sales lady: They’re not pets?

Me: (calling out from the running shorts rack) No, those are his siblings.

Sales lady: Oh my, I’m sooooo embarrassed.

Me: Don’t worry about it.

Sales lady: Well, so what is your name?

KP: KP.

Sales lady: Now really, that can’t be your name.

KP: YES…KP!

Me: Oh yes, it really is.

Sales lady: Now I’m really embarrassed.

I should have told her about our experience at another store when CT was little. I’m sure she would have felt that her slip wasn’t anywhere near as offensive as asking a three month old baby, “Now why on earth would your parents EVER name you that?”

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