When Kendall was an infant, she had tons of black hair. In fact, had I not seen her come out myself, I might not have owned her. You should have seen the looks Mr.4444 and I gave each other--sort of, "Are you sure she's ours?!" Anyway, one day, as I changed her diaper in a diaper deck of a McDonald's, a busload of senior citizens gradually passed us by as they waited their turn for the restrooms. Each one clucked and commented on her hair, asking me if I had heartburn when I was pregnant, etc.
One admirer asked, "What's her name?" and I replied, "Kendall." She pinched up her face as if to say, "Hmmf!" but brightening a little, added, "So you're gonna call her 'Kendy' then." (It was more a pronouncement than a question.)
"No. We'll call her Kendall."
It was if I had just ruined her day; she just could not make room in her psyche for a girl named Kendall. She furrowed her eyebrows in disgust and walked away.
Because, you see, she's a Kendall, not a Kendy. So there!
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, KENDALL!! You're the best daughter I ever had :) Love you....