Daily Prompt The Name’s The Thing. Have you ever named an inanimate object? (Your car? Your laptop? The volleyball that kept you company while you were stranded in the ocean?) Share the story of at least one object with which you’re on a first-name basis.
We were fond of Harry, the can-opener named after Harry, of Harry and Olga, who’d left it behind. We called it by name, whenever we needed to punch a hole in a can of sweetened, condensed milk or Hi C. If I had a can of pop to open I rummaged through the drawer, looking for Harry.
Harry got me in trouble one day. Not the can-opener, but the name, Harry.
Mable, my step-mother’s mother, was staying with us. She was a tightly curled sort, very proper and not overly fond of moi, a mere step-granddaughter.
Dad and Dee, Mable, my step-sis and I were seated at the table. Cans of pop needed opening. Harry the can-opener was mentioned and my embarrassing performance began.
“Harry’s a dumb name,” I started. “How could anyone name a cute little newborn baby Harry?”
I was 12, which made the name Harry sound like Hairy, which really is a ridiculous name. My diatribe went on; I mimicked a mother calling her little Harry.
“Hairy! Hairy! That’s just weird!”
The room got very quiet. Dad and Dee shot stern looks my way.
“My husband’s name was Harry,” Mable said, stirring her tea.
Shut my big, dumb mouth.
Why didn’t I remember that?
Her husband, Harry, Dee’s father Harry, Libby’s grandpa Harry had died just two weeks ago.
I’d been to his funeral.
Stupid, stupid girl.