We visit my sister-in-law, Rita, frequently. Rita bought a great house last year, but we're either going to have to ask Rita to sell the house, find a less direct route, or completely stop visiting Rita.
The problem . . . we have to pass Fifth Third Bank to get to Rita's house. My husband, a brainy rationalist, hates the name 'Fifth Third Bank.' He believes it to be a silly name for an institution dealing with numbers and finance.
He is a Leo, and I am a Libra; my astrological duty is to purr into his ear, 'Yes, that's the stupidest name ever.' But, astrology be damned; I'm tired of hearing about it. Besides, only part of me thinks that it's a stupid name. My artsy side thinks that it is great that some marketing guy convinced a room of stuffy suits to give a financial institute an ironic name* . . . it seems poetic and clever to me. A tiny Jenni is standing in the middle of my corpus callosum tugging left and then right, and frankly, I find the whole process tiring. Until I pick a definitive side, I think I'll continue banking at First National Bank. Sorry, Rita; you'll also probably have to drive to Woodbury to get your squash until we find another route.
*And, yes, I’m well aware that I could look-up the name origin on the Internet, but I refuse. Some things should just remain shrouded in a hazy mist.
No comments:
Post a Comment