Pride goes. . .

I was winding down a long phone conversation with a customer.

"And what's your name?" she asked, getting her follow-up information in order.

"Molly."

There was a delighted sigh on the other end of the phone. "Oh! I used to have a dog named Molly. A pit-bull rotweiller mix, just the *sweetest* thing. . ."

I like dogs, but this was not the first time I had been credited with a canine name, and it was beginning to wear, even if I did have the same name as the sweetest little pit-bull rotweiller ever. Concluding the conversation, I hung up the phone and came out of the office in a state of some indignation.

"How would you like it," I demanded of my co-worker Suzanne, "If every time you told people your name was Molly they said, 'Oh, I used to have a dog named Molly!'?"

Suzanne, who is a very patient soul, looked properly sympathetic. Unfortunately, she is also a very truthful soul.

"I have something to add to that," she offered, "I have a dog named Molly."