‘What about Russian Velvet?’ he asked, throwing the paper bag in the bin. He brushed some crumbs onto the pavement and a twitchy looking pigeon stared longingly at them, bopping around as if trying to find the best angle of approach.
I wanted him to know what a stupid suggestion that was, so I stopped mid chew, tilted my neck in a very odd fashion and raised an eyebrow. In case he didn’t get the message, I felt like I should probably verbalise some sort of response rather than just giving him the most unfriendly of looks. ‘You are the dumbest fuck.’
‘Why?’ he said. As he sat down on the bench, I continued to chew my bite of sandwich. I hoped that he would use this time to think about what he said and maybe offer an explanation. But no, he just kept looking at me, completely bemused as to why I thought “Russian Velvet” was horrific.
I finished chewing. ‘You have to understand what I am about to say is completely honest. We’ve known each other for a very long and I think we’re past the point of lying to make sure we don’t hurt the other’s feelings. Okay?’
He nodded.
I sighed. ‘Okay. So what you are telling me is that you want to name your child, your unborn daughter, “Russian Velvet”?’ I made sure to enunciate the last two words carefully just so he could hear how ridiculous they sound.
He nodded again.
‘That’s a fucking horrible name. It’s like you want her to become a stripper or something. You might as well name her “Tip Generously”.’ After thinking about it for a second, I felt the need to add, ‘Don’t even think about considering that as a name either.’
‘I wasn’t!’ he scowled.
To make a point, I tucked my sandwich in the paper bag. This showed him that I was mentally involved in the conversation. ‘Well I wouldn’t be surprised if you did! It seems you don’t have much talent in picking names and just read them off of toilet roll packages!’
He did something vague with his hand, like he was trying to discourage an eager bumblebee.
More of a point needed to be made, so I put my hand on his shoulder, a classic move by anyone’s standards. ‘You have to promise me. Do not utter those two words as a suggestion for your child’s name to your wife. Shit, don’t even say them together to anyone. Forget that one of those words exists. Probably velvet. I think you can get away with never saying velvet again. You would have a struggle not saying Russian at some point in your life. But, for the love of whatever, don’t name your child “Russian Velvet”.’
He rolled his eyes and nodded. The pigeon seemed to coo in agreement as it picked away at the crumbs of the floor.
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