So I got a little advertisement in the mail yesterday from Express. It was advertising their new styles of blue jeans. (I assume they are new, I've not been in regular stores pretty much since I got pregnant.) They have a new cut with the same name as my daughter. I am somewhat less than thrilled. Two reasons: one, someone may actually think I've chosen to name my beloved munchkin after low rise denim, or two, the general population may be reminded of what a lovely name I've given my baby and all of a sudden there may be a surge in popularity of the name S. Either way, I'm not happy. Secretly, I'm hoping that Express somehow goes under. Maybe they're running sweatshops in New Orleans or something awful. I think I may be thinking about it too much. I'd already had an encounter with her name once this week upon reading about the arrival and subsequent cloth diapering of Dave Matthews newest baby. Turns out he and his wife had a boy that they named August. That was going to be S's name if she was a boy. No big deal there. It's just funny that he already has a daughter named S. Great hippie minds think alike? Probably not. I'd never dump a chemical toilet into a river in Chicago.
Okay, beyond that there's not too much exciting to report. M's dad is now in Lexington. He's staying with us for a few days until his stuff gets here. It's safe to say we have a houseful with Mr. P and Pretzel added to the mix. Pretzel and Otis are funny to watch, though. It makes Otis seem even more puppyish than usual. He's dying for Pretzel to play. Pretzel has little to no interest in playing. She has been trying to steal Otis's breakfast, though.