April, April, April.
Tomorrow's my favorite. Every year, somebody thinks they're the first person ever to have come up with this:
"Hey, April!"(Okay, maybe it's a little funny.) (Heh. I need more friends named April so I can do this to them.)
It gets really interesting when I have to wear a name tag, like when I had a restaurant job. At least 5 times a night throughout the month of April, people would crack little jokes like "Hey! Your name tag is also a calendar right now!"
It was so relentless that on April 29th, an old man looked at me with a mischievous sparkle in his eye and said, "You're almost over," and I didn't even think for a second that he was some sort of doomsday prophet.
I also get a lot of: "What's your middle name? Mayyyy?"
Or: "What month were you born in? April???"
Oh, Mom and Dad. It's as if you two prophesized that, although I was due to be born in March, I would hang out two extra weeks to be born in... April.
And it's as if my parents knew that I'd grow up to be a big ol' barefooted hippie whose favorite animals, in all seriousness, are ducks:
|Soooooo fluffy I'm gonna die.|
And then May rolls around, and I realize I must be more narcissistic than I realize: because I kind of miss hearing my name all the time.
So, I will secretly enjoy the false attention for the next 30 days. (And then there will be an awkward one-week period where I accidentally ignore people who really are saying my name.)
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