Peeled, Cored and Mispronounced

The unfortunate early result of my union with this man became the name issue.  After several very loud discussions regarding the name change, our differing opinions still existed.  I didn’t want to and originally, I wasn’t going to change my name at all, but he whined so much, I decided that I would consider it, despite my dislike of that particular tradition.   Why need a woman give up the name she has had since birth?  It shows possession, much like branding cattle.  I asked him. “You’re not planning to burn your initials on my ass, are you?”    
Hyphenating my name was an unnecessary addition of syllables, so I finally decided to just keep my name, appeasing my husband by agreeing to take his after my father’s death.  I never liked the constant mispronunciation of my name and the frequent need to spell it for people, emphasizing how each letter was pronounced, had been with me all my life.  My husband had a nice, short, five-letter, two syllable name that was very easy to pronounce and at the beginning of the alphabet for our eventual children to use to get sent to the bathroom first when they turn school age.  Yes, it was tempting.  The temptation, however, lasted a very short time, as the pronunciation of this easy name wasn’t easy for anyone who saw it in print before hearing how it sounds.  To them, I was just a piece of fruit and one woman actually argued with me about the pronunciation when I corrected her as though she knew my name better than I did.  I remember my first grade teacher showing me how to spell the word by which they were calling me and it was spelled differently.  I was sure of it.  I wanted more syllables in my last name as much as I wanted a simultaneous root canal, tax audit, and ice water enema, but I decided hyphenating might be the way to go.  Yes, it was long, but while my “unpronounceable” maiden name slowed the idiots down, I could get my husband’s name spelled and sounded out before they had a chance to peel and core it.  Besides, the mispronunciation had begun to make me feel too much like one of the fruit-of-the-loom gang.