There's one more name that I didn't like, but I was called this the entire summer I was 10 yrs old. It may explain why A.) I never like getting my hair cut and B.) why I don't like being called boys' names.
Oh and there's definitely no poker content here, perhaps no content at all. :)
As a little girl, from like the age 5 and on, I'd always had very long, waist length hair. Always. My mother would cut my bangs every few months but the mane was left to grow. This was a problem because I was a bit of a tom boy - always running and playing outside so my hair was always tangled. Ouch! We never had conditioner which would have fixed everything. Nope, just shampoo and alot of brushing and combing by my mom afterwards. That part sucked and I always complained very loudly about it.
In response, my mom always threatened to cut all my hair off, which pretty much shut me up. Since she'd threatened it so much, I didn't really take her seriously. (mistake #1) The summer I turned 10 she told me she was taking me to a hair salon. Dante's Salon in Everett, MA to be exact. I'd never had my hair done at a salon before so I was more than a little excited. (mistake #2)
I was sitting in the chair that spun round and round and having a great time, while my mom chatted privately with Dante about what I was having done. I didn't care; this was cool! (mistake #3)
He cut ALL of my hair off. I went from having hair hanging below my waist to having the world's shortest BOY'S hair cut. Honestly, most of the boys in my neighborhood had longer hair than mine. It was ubershort, spiky and kinda sticking up, like a long crew cut.
I swear to God, I left with my hair no longer than the photo above, and most likely shorter than that. He gave me a very short boy's regular hair cut. OMFG. Mom said it looked good and off we went home. I didn't even cry. Not then anyway.
I lived in a very big 2 family house with lots of kids. I got home and one of those kids said I looked like "Paul". Paul was a neighborhood boy who was about 3 yrs younger than me. As I was small for my age, we were about the same size. Then someone else called me Paul, and it stuck. It was "Paul, you wanna play kickball?"
The next day I went out to play and sure enough Paul was out playing too. Back then all of the kids in my area just all played together. They were mostly boys and me. The older girls didn't play outside and get dirty. Anyway, all the kids really started calling me Paul once we were side by side. Paul was a handsome boy and I guess I was too. FML. All summer long, when I got up to bat, "Go Paul, Go".
It was bad and I blamed my mother, who blamed me for not taking better care of my hair. Blah.
Later that summer we took a family vacation to New York City and there are photos of me in NY, wearing a baby blue polyester jumpsuit and with hair shorter than Winona's. Damn, I did look like Paul. Or maybe Paul looked like me! I refused to get my hair cut for years afterwards.
I guess there are worse names than Joe C., like Paul.
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