My parents named me Mary. With apologies to the Blessed Mother, it is kind of a boring name. Except my last name is Mack. Miss Mary Mack. Poor things. There was no Google and apparently, neither one of them had played any double dutch. Not to worry, they also named my sister Mary Mack. We are just a teeny bit Irish and a dab Catholic.
This is the long story my Mom will tell you if are a telemarketer or bill collector and make the mistake of asking for, “Mary Mack.” She will then follow up this anecdote with the question, “Which Mary? Mary older? Mary in high school?” And, since you they don’t actually know either of her daughters she could then laugh and hang up. I always thought mentally she was giving herself a big high five for this premeditated screening process.
On a day to day basis (when we weren’t in big trouble), they called us both by nicknames. I’m Molly Mack. If this whole naming situation sounds weird to you then you just don’t know enough hardcore Irish Catholic people. That is o.k. I’ll be your Irish Catholic friend with Silver Buttons down my back.