When my offspring were little, we named everything.
Cars. Trucks. Animals. Inanimate objects. Body parts.
Beach Boy and I figured by giving something a name, our children would take ownership, be proud and have respect for that item.
So when it came time to open our business, we felt it was important to christen it with a name we could be proud of. Something we could hang our hat on.
In the meantime, BB and the two mini-mes scheduled Saturday nights as male bonding sessions. It usually entailed food, drink, the rec room, the family dog, the remote control and their favorite shows.
I seized those snippets of time to do “me” things. But on one occasion I decided to break ranks and join them.
I wanted to check out a show they talked about incessantly: Xena: Warrior Princess.
Soggy popcorn and a few token girlie laughs later, I finally figured out why “the guys” were so engrossed with the show.
In a nutshell, Xena: Warrior Princess travelled from village to village with her female sidekick, Gabrielle. The women attempted to right the wrongs Xena made many mistakes ago. They hooked up with the good guys and beat the bad ones. They were Amazons. Big. Bold. Amazons.
It finally dawned on me that it wasn’t the quality of the script that appealed to the males in my family.
I drew the line at the hot tub scene.
Xena was lean, gorgeous, raven-haired and blue-eyed. Gabrielle was cute, petite and blonde. Every time Xena went into battle, she’d let out a war cry that would peel the paint off the walls of an outhouse. Then there was the matter of her burgeoning bosom. Always heaving and framed in an uplift warrior bra, it appeared to grow with each scene. Xena’s bosoms jostled to and from like some amateur jockey in a bad horse race. Gabrielle wasn’t much better. Or worse.
I drew the line at the hot tub scene.
Naked and sitting very close, Xena and Gabrielle sat in steaming water, engrossed in a conversation. My impressionable little angels sat glued to their seats. BB sat glued to his. I think if a bomb exploded in the room they wouldn’t have noticed.
Slowly I reached for the remote. A cartoon sprung to life on the screen. “Aw mom,” they howled. “We were watching Xena!”
“Too bad,” I huffed. The bigger child of the three shrugged his shoulders in feigned innocence.
Back to business
Thankfully, Xena: Warrior Princess eventually fell into obscurity and the show was cancelled. I didn’t have to worry about that harlot corrupting my babies anymore.
Meanwhile, the task of naming our business had not been resolved.
BB and I rattled around a few ideas, none of which were remotely interesting or catchy.
Finally I asked what seemed an obvious question. “What do you want to do?”
A thoughtful look on his face: “I want to fix tools.”
The name had to reflect that. It also had to be a name we were proud of. Something we could hang our hat on.
“We have to put it in the Yellow Pages too,” Beach Boy added.
Yellow Page ads are expensive. We wanted the best bang for our buck. We wanted to be at the top of the list. In the “A” section.
Aghast Tool Repair?
So it started… Amazing Tool Repair? Aero Tool Repair? (Mmmm, chocolate…) Ah Ha Tool Repair! (No surprises please.) Afraid Tool Repair? (Bad idea.) Avalon Tool Repair (waaaay over used); Aghast Tool Repair (just an awful idea); Abba Tool Repair (copyright infringement and BB can’t hold a tune); Adjacent Tool Repair (adjacent to what???)
Finally. The clouds parted and angels sang.
“Amazon Tool Repair!” he whooped, slamming his fist down on the wooden kitchen table and rattling the glasses in the cupboard.
“Why Amazon?” I didn’t notice the mischievous glint in his eye.
“Well… Xena is an Amazon. And it is my favorite show.” (He still scoured the re-runs, four years after the show was cancelled, praying for the hot tub scene one last time.)
“And she kinda reminds me of you,” he smirked.
How could I argue?
Stand us beside each other and Xena and I could pass for twins. I just had to work on my war cry, biceps, flat stomach, flowing black locks, perky assets, dress size and the railroad tracks that doubled for stretch marks on my body that birthing two baby gorillas had bestowed upon me.
Yup. Me an’ Xena put the “A” in Amazon.
In the Yellow Pages anyway.
As long as it was legal and BB didn’t make me dress up like his warrior princess, I suppose he could keep the name.
(Insert war cry here.)