So my wife and I were sitting around trying to decide what our porn star names would be. OK, we were sitting around trying to decide what her porn star name would be. Mine would be T-Bone, obviously. Hers is up for grabs.
First we had to decide what qualities her character would have. You can’t do that kind of work and have self-esteem issues so we decided her character would be as over-confident as my wife is under-confident. She’d dress to stand out rather than blend in. She’d be tough rather than tender. She’d be assertive rather than diplomatic. Five minutes into this exercise I realized my wife’s porn star character is a whip-totin’, leather wearin’ dominatrix.
She must have been thinking along the same lines.
“How about Mistress Ripley?” she asked. She’s a big fan of the Alien movies.
Could be interesting but I strongly suspect this is one of those “be careful what you wish for situations.” I don’t care what she calls herself, I don’t want to spend the rest of our lives worshiping her feet. Sorry, but toes by any other name are still just toes. And that’s the least scary thing I can think of Mistress Ripley doing.
“Game over, man! Game over!” I didn’t have to try hard to sound scared. I quickly tried to redirect the conversation back to picking a name but also steer her away from the dominatrix and toward a friendlier character.
“Your character would be known for her surpassing beauty,” I declared. “I’ve got it! How about Venus de Otis?”
“Venus de Otis? What the hell kind of name is that?”
“Venus de Milo was already taken,” I explained. “This would be the natural next best name.”
That’s when Mistress Ripley showed up and landed a roundhouse right into my shoulder nearly knocking me down. I’m told I have some punishment coming tomorrow. I hope it doesn’t have anything to do with feet.