As I child I didn't understand how it worked. Not only did I think it would be relatively simple to go from my stucco box in Sacramento to a glamorous world of evening gowns, butlers, and limousines, but I believed I was destined for it. Adulthood would somehow ignore my origins completely and transform me into a venomous, wealthy temptress with unrivaled beauty and a collection of jewels. In fourth grade, I thought up a name that would better suit my entrance into the Danielle Steele-ish world of dark sophistication in which I would surely move one day. It was Veronica Ludlow. Sadly, adulthood finds me downwardly mobile and looking exactly the same as I did as a child, but with a hook nose. Plus, the more I think about it, Veronica Ludlow is not so much a name for rich beauty as a weird girl at school. She's really nice but you never want to go over to her house because it smells like fish and all the furniture is covered in dog hair and all she wants to talk about are gnomes.
This name is now up for grabs. It might best be used by a children's author who needs a name for the protagonist in a story she's writing about a girl who helps a horse in distress.
