Call It What You Like

I noticed on PhillyTwo's blog that she was explaining to someone that "Bud" and "Van" were one and the same, neither being the boy's real name. "Bud" was bestowed upon him in college because for some reason everyone had "beer" names then. I dubbed him "Van" because he showed up over here in an old, beat-up van one day and well, if the shoe fits. After all, our family rules Nickname Mountain and no one ever escapes. I really think my Aunt Mildred started it. She could never call anybody by their right name. She liked to switch 'em up a tad, usually with a close-but-no-cigar mispronunciation. From that seed, it just grew, or should I say, festered. Let's see, there was the boy who sat on our front porch and cried because I didn't like him. Sad, really. Except that he was sixteen. His name was Jimmy, but he was forevermore, Cry. And there was the boy whose last name sounded like Secret. We called him "Ice Blue". (Back then Secret deodorant was called Ice Blue Secret.) Another one of my boyfriends had, shall we say, rather full lips, so we gave him the very clever name, Lips. Later in life, I went out with a man named Bob. Of course, we never called him anything but "Boob". Anyway, the point is, if you happen to be someone we know, then you probably have a nickname. But don't ask us what it is. We'd rather walk on our lips than be catty.