Overheard Auckland
When you don't have your own conversations, you listen to what other people talk about. You know, the goss about Jeremy, his sabletooth ex-wife and their saucy divorce; about Florence, the expensiveness yet oh-so-worth-it of travelling and other uninteresting things.
However, I recently happened to overhear an idea which I have fallen in life with.Two women in their 50s talking about a friend who came to New Zealand for some OE trip, had a fabulous time, fell in love with some islander, never had the guts to stay, went back to the States to her planned life, grew more and more nostalgic of NZ and then ended up naming her daughter Maori. Of course she spelled it as Maory, and of course she pretended it was Native American.
And I thought that if I ever had to live somewhere else, and ever had a baby and nothing better to call it, I would pick the name Maori (or Maory, or I could even pronounce it with the O stressed) and this will be my little secret and my penance for my misspent New Zealand youth.
Of course I will never have the guts to do it, and will probably end up picking some classical boring name, like Alexandra or Anastasia. Urgh.
