In my head I name her
Bernice because her real name is reserved in my head for only one person, and besides she is not nearly nice enough, or pretty enough to be befitting of her real name. So Bernice it is, a name as wrinkled and old as
what I secretly hope her skin will look like in twenty years.
She gets angry when I fumble over her name, because my head is thinking, Bernice Bernice Bernice, but my mouth has to say the real name and it throws me all off. It's easy enough to remember she says, everytime, with a snotty snear and all I want to do is sternly say, Look, My head has given you another name so you are just going to have to deal with it.
But outwardly, I'm very very nice so I don't say these things. Inside I'm
seething. Really.