(Disclaimer for my Dad: **Spoiler Alert** Dad, when you read this, just know that sometimes I go for comic effect, but I really like my name. It’s grown on me. HAHAHA I’m so funny. But really. It fits me perfectly. Also I’m glad you spelled it right.)
Growing up, I always wanted my name to be Elizabeth. Princess Elizabeth sounds SO much better than Princess Rachel.
Rachel is not a princess name. It doesn’t even rhyme with anything. The only thing it’s good for is winning the alphabet name game. It’s so ORDINARY.
There are so many of me! The worst was when one of the Rachels in half my classes in high school also had blonde curly hair. Now there was no way for people to tell us apart.
I know you Sarahs and Emilys can understand me on this. But at least your names mean Princess and Hard Working. I would take either of those.
Rachel means Ewe. As in, Ew look at that bug.
Ewe. Like the sheep.
My older sister’s name is Heather. That’s a perfectly princess name. Princess Heather rolls right off that red thing in your mouth. It has the added benefit of being a type of flower. Who doesn’t love flowers? Even if you’re allergic, you have to admit you like looking at them.
Then there’s Savannah the Younger. Vast desert wastelands aren’t your thing? They weren’t my dad’s either. He only agreed to use the name after one of his favorite football players used it first. That’s such a cool reason for a name.
I approached my dear dad one day, demanding the reasons behind my terribly boring name. It was his call, after my mom named my older sister, and he had full responsibility for this atrocity.
“Well,” said Dad, “I always liked the story of Jacob and Rachel from the Bible. Jacob loved Rachel from the moment he met her, and he was devoted to her her entire life, and long after she died he remembered the love he had for her.”
If you ignore the Leah person in the tale (and how Rachel treated her in a very selfish jerk manner, and how Jacob was very ungracious with the situation, and how her dad Laban forced her into a lifelong lesson of learning that a man’s love does not complete you (which is a great lesson, but the situation was pretty awful)) it’s a heartwarming love story.
Cool! I’m back on the Princess track!
One day, a gallant gentleman is going to spot me from across a room or mountain trail or beach or whatever, be completely smitten, take me out for a seafood broil or a nice salmon steak as he falls in love with me based on my ability to read a menu, propose under a waterfall as a cello plays in the background, and whisk me away for a Grecian honeymoon. Because, you know, he got really rich off of his uncle and has
sheep money to spare.
Greece was totally in the undertones of the Biblical story. They were close-ish.
Not only did Boyfriend not completely fall for me after our first conversation – which I don’t know why not, I’m sure I was ravishing – but his name is not Jacob, he did not work for 14 years to earn me (the nerve!), he couldn’t hack it on a farm, and he most definitely will not add me on as his second wife after he makes a drunken mistake.
He wouldn’t be opposed to 12 kids, but we are not only not having that many, we are doing it the old-fashioned way which is not the same as the Old Testament way of using your handmaiden as an alternate wife in the bedroom.
When you get down to the nitty gritty, I’m pretty glad I haven’t taken after my namesake too much.
Although the jury is still out on that life-long devotion part. And the wealthy part. I like both. Both favorites!
OK one is clearly more favorite than the other, but I had to throw in some Brian Regan for when Boyfriend reads this.
The point of this post, I think, is that I’m going to more than likely name one of my daughters Elizabeth.
She’ll probably hate it. And when she comes to me demanding why I laid this atrocity on her, I will patiently explain that I am trying to live vicariously through her and when she is old enough to get a job she can pay to change it.
As for the rest of my life as a plain old Rachel, you know what? I don’t have to have a rhyme-able name to be happy. I don’t have to have a name that is only .01% of the population to feel unique. I define my name, my name doesn’t define me.
Yeah, that’s definitely just a bunch of hooey balooey I’m saying to make myself feel better.
Whatever. I’ll totally dominate you at the alphabet name game. My middle name has four letters.