Lord Pesterpants

It's day Two Hundred or so of the Great Frostiness, a time when my daughter is unable to speak to either me or my wife in a tone that doesn't convey great contempt. It all started back on my birthday, and as of yesterday -- when she found out that we weren't anxious to buy her a brand-new cell phone to replace the one she's trashed -- it was still in full force. Today, we're headed for the State Fair, so a good time should be had by all.

But what I'm really wondering about is a childhood friend. His name, as nearly as I can recall, was Steve Monis. That's not what we called him. For some reason, his nickname was... Toenail. It became Toenail while I was friends with him, but I cannot recall how it came to be. I do remember the fateful day he took the carpool to school with us.* As he opened the door to get in, all of us -- and there were maybe twenty or thirty kids packed into that station wagon -- sang out, in perfect unison, "Good Morning, Toenail!"

I think his mother was there. I think she was surprised to learn that her darling son had acquired that particular nickname. And, again, I have no idea what, if anything, he did to earn that name. It just happened. But I have wondered just how long it stuck with him, and whether it impeded him later in life. I can't imagine, for example, a "President Toenail." The press conferences would be awkward, I'd think.

And while I was considering the subject of nicknames, I remembered that my daughter was, briefly, Miss Pesterpants. I do remember who it was that thought that nickname up -- it was me. It came to me in one of those rare moments of blinding inspiration, and it seemed perfect. And I wonder, as I prepare to face the day of glares and door slams and barely civil (if even that) replies, whether that nickname has become appropriate again.

Or, on the other hand, it's entirely possible that I have now been elevated to the position of Lord Pesterpants. I do wonder.


* Remind me to tell you the joke about carpool tunnel syndrome some time.