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Given that this boy is coming round to my house in four days, I figure I best give him a name. Obviously he has a real name but as I’ve already left too many breadcrumbs which could reveal my identity, I don’t want to out him.
I still haven’t decided what to do with this diary. The more I write, the more I think it would make a great blog. Heck, it should be serialised in the Guardian or made into a comedy on Channel 4. Okay, maybe I’m getting ahead of myself but it is funny and I do think at some point, when I’m feeling brave, I shall share it with the world. So I really ought to protect my nearest and dearest by changing names and identities.
So what’s in a name? What should I call this boy who might just be ‘the one’? My previous naming format was admittedly childish. The first rishtaa that came through the door - Tall-boy, was, well... rather tall. At least for Bengali standards, that is. His 5ft 10in stats and sharp suit caught the eye of my mum and sisters, who were devastated when things didn’t progress to a second meeting. As was I. We never found out what went wrong there. I guess it’s irrelevant now as he’s married and I’m kind of off the market, though I’m still pissed off with auntie Fatima. Anyway, I digress. The other two suitors weren’t genuine contenders, so I nicknamed them accordingly. Small-boy was too small and Fedora hat-boy was a pompous prick.
As for my own hunting efforts, this only resulted in two dates, both equally unsuccessful. Shy-boy was too shy and Tight-git needs no further explanation. I’m still bitter about footing the bill on that occasion.
Naming this boy is harder. I can’t call him Bald-boy. Well, technically I can, as this is factually accurate (thankfully, he wears it well) but it just feels wrong. I like him too much so attaching a label that highlights what most people see as a flaw is just mean. He doesn’t really have any other quirks. Come to think of it, he says to be honest with ya, an awful lot. This proved slightly unnerving in the early days when I was figuring him out, as it suggested that every time he didn’t end with that phrase he was being dishonest. I must bring that up with him sometime.
Anyway, I have to call him something, otherwise I’m confusing myself with the constant use of him and boy.
Oh sod it, I’m all for an easy life. His name begins with M, so that’s what I’ll call him: M. Yes, I’m a professional wordsmith so I should do better but, with my potential in-laws coming over this weekend, time is of the essence and I can’t spend hours agonising over a moniker. There are bigger issues at large.