No, not THOSE Rules. MY rules. I don't mean like "Follow the Golden Rule," (which I try to do). It's more like, "When I get a new album, I must play it at least three times before I file it away" or "When I play racquetball, and the score gets into a rut, I must find arcane ways to recite the score" or "Almost any song can be done in chicken, the more bombastic, the better. Ode to Joy and Smoke on the Water are good examples."
I knew I had rules, but until we got into naming Lydia, I don't think that Carol was aware of my naming rules. *I* wasn't aware of my naming rules. When you've never had a child, naming is more a conceptual thing, as it were.
So the rules were:
So, Lydia it was, named in part after a woman in Acts who was rich even to put up the apostle Paul and this cohorts. It was only later that a friend pointed out that the church I attended as a child, Trinity A.M.E. Zion, was on the corner of Lydia and Oak, and that I walked down Lydia Street every day on my way to school. Obviously, I knew this to be factually true, but never crossed my consciousness.
The only downside to her name has been those streams of choruses from Marx Brothers' fans of "Lydia the Tattooed Lady", a song that had TOTALLY slipped my mind.
So, even with RULES, tattoos happen. But so do encyclo-pidias.