Yesterday, a little girl who lives down the road from me came into the store with her family. I never realized it, but her name is Anna. She was buying a playset with her own money. "I didn't know that your name was Anna," I said, while ringing her up. "That's my sister's name! Do they call you Anna Banana? They used to call my sister Anna Banana and it used to make her very, very angry." And Anna looked up at me and said, "They call me Anne Boleyn and I DON'T LIKE IT." And her little face got a very frustrated look.
Anna Banana. Anne Boleyn. Cripes. Playground name calling has gotten kind of high brow since I graced the monkey bars....
Merrill's mother was in the store yesterday. She was having a terrible time with him the last time I saw her. He had learned to crow, and was really making a ruckus at really ungodly hours. I said, "So...is Merrill an 'in-y' or an 'out-y' at this point?" And she sighed. "He's an in-y." He still lives in the house, and he still carries his little chicken doll along with him for comfort, but he's begun to peck viciously at her when she tries to clean his cage. He is always shrieking about something. He does go out with the other chickens, but he doesn't seem to realize that he is one of them, and pays them no mind. He wanders around for a time, but then comes and sits on the flower pot, waiting patiently to be brought back inside.
I listened to this, and I said, "Well, he's mean and yells a lot, and doesn't like a clean cage. He doesn't know who he is. By golly. Merrill has become a teenager!" Merrill's mother laughed and she said, "Bless his little beak..."