When Junior was first born and we told everyone the name we had chosen for him, they did two things in succession: They did one of those tight lip smiles then asked, “What’s his nickname going to be?”
Understandably, I was pissed. Basically they were saying, “That name sucks so you’d better come up with something else—something that's catchy and endearing that we like.”
Well, I’m happy to report that Junior has been knighted with his first ever nickname (besides “Junior”, that is). Our nanny’s 17-month-old son, Brian, has been racing over to Junior in the morning and greeting him with..."Jager."
As in Jagermeister. You know, that cough syrupy alcoholic substance that is one of three crucial ingredients in the always tasty and delicious Red Headed Slut?
If you've never heard a small child chant "Jager! Jager!" it's pretty darn cute.
As far as nicknames go, I kind of like it. I'd even venture to say that I really like it. It fits the whole dang family. I’ve been known to flambé with whiskey. And Chuck? About that “stomach bug” on our way to the Cape…yah, good ole Chuck went a little too nuts celebrating his birthday the night before (by the way, that lone birthday wish to him was the saddest ever—that’s like having one person at the Labor Day parade, all by herself with her lone streamer).
I'm so happy with the nickname I've been toying with the idea of throwing Junior a nicknaming party. Complete with party favors of nips! I can just see it now...
“Mom, Dad, you know how you wanted Junior to have a nickname? Let’s raise our shot glasses, shall we?”
Sniff...sniff...sometimes life is just so fricken poetic.