"I do," I reply into the phone.
I know I shouldn't have answered but I did because Sarah gave me lots of instructions before she left and the caller from Wilmington, NC may have had something to do with them.I'm not sure.
"William?" he asks and I know I'm done for.
I don't know why in this country ... first names get preference ... but they do.
It's Government of course which can't cope with more than one name ... or thing ... at a time.
My Dad was William Franklin Elliott ... called Billy.
When I was born Mom wanted to name me that ... but in a moment of clarity my Dad said, "I don't want no damn Junior! Name him something else."
They settled on Michael ... which somehow came Micheal ... with the E before the A ... now my Mother denies this ... but she was knocked out with pain killers at the time ... and you can't always trust your Mother (as Lou Reed famously said).
My brother got it worse ... he was born 11 months later ... as my Dad was determine to prove an "Old Wives Tale" wrong.
"Let's name him David," my Dad says.
"Okay," Mom replies ... obviously high laying in bed ... snuggling the jar of morphine.
"What's his middle name?" Mom asks ... dreamingly staring into Heaven.
Dad panics ... grabs the phone book ... opens it up ... sticks his finger on the first name he sees ... and says "Eugene."
Ah ... it cracks me up to this day!
David Eugene Elliott!
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
Anyway, the guy on the phone is an insurance agent that my wife Sarah apparently has a clandestine relationship with.
"William?" he asks again.
"No," I reply. "I'm Micheal."
All of that to say ... Thanks Dad.
It sure comes in handy sometimes.
As much of a pain-in-the-ass it can be.
Damn Government.
And to this day ... I'm not quite sure what our sister Angi was named for ... Angel or Ass?
