Friends Don’t Let Friends Call Their Kids Poopie Pie

If there’s one thing that made the whole “cry-flying” worth it (besides family of course), it was having Ruby meet some good friends back home.

And Ruby, you have them to thank for simultaneously chiding me for the nicknames I give you, and giving you a nickname at the same time.

Er, perfect.

When she heard me go “Ruby Poo,” Janice recounted her own experience of her mom calling her something rather unpleasant till she was 15. FIFTEEN!

I wouldn’t do that, I said. Would I?

Rubes.Rubester.Poopster.PoopiePie.RubetheCube.RubyPoo.Poopy.Poopsie.Iforgettherest.

Ruby sure has a few — shall we say — variations to her name.

I guess poop references are only cute when you’re less than three feet tall. (No offence to gnomes and little people.)

I asked my parents what they used to call me, and my dad said, “Know-Nothing” in Cantonese. My sister was apparently “Clumsy One” in Cantonese and my brother, “Ninja Turtle.” After the series, not any latent violent tendencies.

I wasn’t too scarred by all that. Hell, I don’t even remember.

But I don’t want Ruby going for therapy years from now, saying, “You know, my mom was kinda cool. But I hated that dumb nickname.”

So Ruby, you can thank Janice for my cutting back on the Ruby Poos, but you can blame thank Alan for coming up with a new one.

Your rosy and ample cheeks do you in, my dear.

He said, “Just put a red dot on her forehead and she’s Char Siew Pao.”

Genius, really.