my father is strange. we all know this. but, among his many, many as yet unrevealed strangenesses, one is a procivity for names.
come to think of it, this is probably not surprising either given that i am my father's daughter and i have rechristened pretty much every single soul in my acquaintance. but back to my point...
when he was clerking at fred p. gaddes, my father jotted down names off the refusal of credit list. daisy catchings was a family favorite.
there's the ages old joke that if i'd had brothers and sisters, they would've all been given variations of my name so that my father could stand at the bottom of the stairs and shout: caroline, carl ryan, claire ann, cal van.
and of course, we've got witness protection names. for decades, we've been prepped for a fast escape to mexico as dean burrito, belle grande, and little fajita.
so i thought we were all set, identity-wise. apparently not. yesterday, my father discovered my latest alter ego: lya de putti.