Mark My Words
I have heard some ridiculous names for children recently. Virgil and Ebony. Tahnee and Jasper. Jingaling and Rhubarb. Well all right, perhaps I haven’t actually heard those last two but it wouldn’t surprise me if I did. Where do parents get off calling their kids such appalling made up names? They must be on drugs, it’s the only logical explanation. Perhaps if I’d sat around snorting marahoona cones when I was gestating, my children may have ended up with names like Pongo, Gobbeldegook and Earwig instead of their timeless monikers like Rhonda, Joyce, Clem, Neville and er… a few others I can’t recall at the present. Come on parents of Australia - get off the grass! What’s wrong with pleasing classic names like Bertha or Evadne? Or Vernon for a boy? You don’t hear them anymore and it’s a great shame.

And what’s worse are these poor mites named after geographical locations: Paris, Dakota, Tahiti. Are people raising kids or planning a holiday? Because it sounds like they need a one way ticket to planet Loonyville – population: bag of nuts. What’s worse is they’re all foreign. If you’re going to call your kid after a town or landmark why not keep it Australian: “This is my son Uluru and have you met his sister Fremantle Jetty?” Lovely.

I personally would like a grandson called Wagga Wagga. Doesn’t that sound beaut? I think I could really warm to a child with that name. Unfortunately my children, who are all selfish and unpatriotic, have refused me this simple pleasure and as a result I’ve struggled to bond with their offspring whose names I can hardly be expected to recall – I am after all just a poor old woman. Which is why I’ve had to invent my own names for the Grandkids. Such as Sooky La La and Little Miss Smartmouth (ooh, she’s a one), Pizza Face (he’s 14) and Dumb-As-A-Bucket-Of-Rocks to name a few. I know it’s not ideal but what’s a poor old lady to do?

As a mother I suppose my biggest regret in life is that I didn’t beat my own daughter Rhonda more often. Oh she was a demanding child. “Could I have a dolly to play with Mama? Please may I have a dolly? Mother, why won’t you buy me a dolly?” It was exhausting. And once she had her own way she’d become argumentative: “That’s not a real dolly, that’s a corn cob in a dress”. Oh there was no pleasing her.

Take my word for it, having children is a complete waste of time. All they give you is fatigue, a weak bladder and a prolapse with a mind of its own. I tell you, I’ve given up trying to push that thing back in. I just let it all hang out. Which is fun when the Mormons come calling. I just answer the door in a short nightie and nothing else – watch them run screaming back to Utah. Who said getting old was dull?! Yes if you want my advice, stick with cats.