When we go on vacation, we like to assign an American Indian, "Dances With Wolves" kind of name to each family member.  It becomes almost like souvenir for you to remember something you did, or that happened to you on the trip.  I'll give you an example.  So far, every time we go for a walk on the beach with Margot, stray mutts start to follow us, like a Munchkin welcome.  But when we go without her, there are no dogs.  This may be because Margot is an empathy oozing Bio major.  Or maybe she keeps ground lamb in her pockets.  Anyway, it's too early to tell, but her Indian name for this trip might very well be "Hounded By Mongrels" Wilsterman.

Here's another possibility.  Last night we went to a hole in the wall jerk pit for dinner, where I was challenged to order something from the menu that was out of my comfort zone.  Lots of drama ensued.  So, for this vacation, "Choked Down Goat" will probably be how I am remembered.

This business got started on a trip about ten years ago, when Bo got pink eye, ostensibly from diving into a busy harbor that was loaded with moored sailboats.  He kept saying, do you I think I got pink eye because I swam through poop?"  And I said, "I don't know, but that sure sounds like your new Indian name."