David

My name (David) is ridiculously common. I was once in a guitar class where four out of the twelve students were named David. I’ve gotten to the point where if I hear someone call out “Dave!,” I don’t even bother to look, since it’s probably not for me. I’ve also gotten to the point where I always introduce myself as “David” rather than “Dave,” because “Dave” doesn’t seem to contain enough consonants for people to be able to tell what you’re saying. (“What’s your name?” “Dave.” “Jay?” “No, Dave. “Ray?” Etc.) And of course, as soon as people grasp what your name actually is, they want to know, “Do you prefer David or Dave?” For some reason that I’ve never understood, saying, “You know, I just really don’t care at all” doesn’t work, they’ve got to have a preference. Then, no matter which one you choose, they repeatedly call you by the other one and then apologize. Fortunately, it seems that fewer young men will have to endure these tribulations, at least according to this list of popular baby names for the year 2006, where David scores at a shockingly low #45, below names I’ve never even heard of before, such as “Brayden.” (Being named “Brayden” probably comes with its own set of problems, but that’s a topic for another day.) Anyway, props to new parents of America for unleashing fewer Davids on the unsuspecting public. (And new parents of America, I hope you’re happy to accept this accolade, since I’m not going to give you props for anything else you’re doing.) The fewer Davids the better. In fact, really, there can be only one.