I am not wealthy, pregnant, and look like a three year old playing dress-up with her mom’s shoes when attempting to walk in heels. Yet this week I was riveted by a ridiculous reality TV show yesterday that included all of the criteria.
The show, called “Pregnant in Heels”, follows a woman named Rosie who is a “maternity concierge, fashion designer, and pregnancy guru.” This jack-of-all-baby-trades is willing to do whatever moms-to-be need, other than actually have their baby
Although I wouldn’t be shocked if she somehow tackled that in a future episode.
One of Rosie’s tasks this episode: To select a perfect baby name for a power couple. This couple has aspirations of their new son to become President of the United States in 2050. Choosing the perfect name, according to them, is a huge part of getting his name on the ticket.
With that kind of pressure, I wouldn’t be surprised if this child turned grey before graduating from Gerber’s.
The couple eventually decides that having Rosie select the name is not sufficient. They hire a panel of experts who give their feedback on their favorite names. They have an insane amount of specifications, including no names ending in “S”, names starting with the letters J, R, or E. They had some powerful marking/business executives and, my favorite, a matchmaker.
Because, obviously, having a bad name could make their baby a Bachelor. Which, according to them, is possibly worse than him not being President.
After the thousands of dollars spent on Rosie’s services, the panel of “experts” and an arranged dinner with their closest friends specifically to deliberate the names (some of the men looked like they’d rather have a root canal), the parents decided to go with a name that no one else liked: Bowen (nicknamed “Bo”) Asher.
“Bo” reminds me of Archery in gym class [Sidenote: My teacher said that I was the worst archery student she ever had. This is probably surprising to no one] and “Asher” reminds me of Asher Rother, the singer of “I Love College.” I don’t really forsee the presidential slogan of 2050 being “Pass my beer and smoke my weed!”
I can’t imagine ever spending picking a panel for a potentially future president, but I admit: I love baby names. Which is true in the following story, which shows my susceptibility to scams.
Sometime during college, I received an email with a subject titled “Find your perfect baby name!” My perfect baby name (approximately 10 years in advance)? Sign me up! I made up fake information about my due date and delivery.I received “Baby Weekly” emails in the weeks leading up to my “delivery” (around 50 weeks in advance). I anxiously awaited my perfect name and…nothing. The emails then continued through the nameless child’s early stages.
I still received these emails three years later. I finally figured out to unsubscribe.
Have you already named your future baby? Do you already have plans to have a future President?