My dad has a little gag he loves doing that involves me being trans (it’s fun- don’t worry).
So, my dead name is also the name of a food item (spelled different but sounds the same). We sometimes eat that food item- it’s a nice treat. His little joke is that he will only call that food “Dead Names”- which leads to hilarious instances of hearing my 70 year old father call out “Hey, I’m going to go grab some Dead Names while we’re here!” while he’s half way down the isle in the grocery store, or him coming home and saying “hey, I picked up a box of Dead Names while I was out! :)”
It just makes me so overwhelmingly happy that my old name is not something wrapped in grief. It doesn’t represent a loss. It is something we can smile about and remember even if it doesn’t fit me anymore.
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my sleep deprived ass at 2am thinking this is funny 💀💀💀
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You shouldn't talk smack about people who have passed away.
And if you are a history teacher, you shouldn't go to work with a cold.
And if you are a doctor and you die, you should never haunt anyone and tell them information about your patients.
In other words,
Don't speak ill of the dead, don't speak of the dead ill, and don't speak of the ill dead.
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Huan: I can speak only three times, so listen to me carefully.
Lúthien: Okay.
Huan: What do a tree and I have in common?
Lúthien: You're both tall?
Huan: We bark.
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His seam work is im-meow-culate.
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In Charlotte's Web, the farmers wife bathes Wilbur in buttermilk because it's "good for his skin." Pffff I dunno... sounds like hogwash to me.
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