Like I was saying the other day, when you're little, and your name is "Constance," it stinks because you can't find your name on bike license plates in the kind of gift shops that also sell tomahawks.  It wasn't until I got a lot older that I started to appreciate the flexibility and power of my name in its shortened form, "Con."  

It started a few years ago, on a late October camping trip to Vermont, when I was renamed, "Camping Con."  Camping Con starts most sentences with, "Raise your hand if..." or "Okay, everyone name your favorite..." Apparently, she is really into unifying the group, which explains all the calls for votes. Camping Con can make appearances at family dinners, especially if someone lights off a ton of candles, so actual camping is optional. 

I was rightfully accused of being Camping Con last night when I said this at dinner:  "Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, Holy Saturday and Easter Sunday -- that weekend was an emotional roller coaster for the people who lived through it.  Everyone name a high point and a low point.  Starting on my left.  Please pass the ham." 

Camping Con is closely associated with Cocktail Con, Shock-A-Con and Crying Con (mostly in that order).