The Perfect
Surname
My Big Fat Mythical Greek Wedding
After a long day of turning various monsters, villains,
demi-gods to stone, all Perseus wanted was to remove
his sandals, sit back, and maybe sneak in a nap before
dinner.
‘Smith, Jones, Davies, Hughes …’ he thought to himself,
strolling down the High Street.
‘Rivendell, Mordor, Baggins, Took …’
Shortlisted Story
Nor’dzin Pamo
[email protected]
Nor’dzin Pamo lives in Wales, UK with her husband and
two grown-up sons. She is the author of two books:
Relaxing into Meditation and Spacious Passion. You can
contact her via her blog:
http://ngakma-nordzin.blogspot.com
“Perfect. Let’s go to that place in the arcade.”
Valerie had absolutely refused to become a Ramsbottom.
He could not blame her—the name had always blighted
his social status—and he was quite happy to lose it
as well. One of the advantages of living in a country
where democracy and freedom of choice still had some
meaning was that they could decide to choose their own
surname. It was a simple procedure to adopt a new one.
But what name to choose?
‘Pegasus, Andromeda, Cassiopeia, Ursa …’
They always agreed. Everything was always so easy.
Arm in arm, Gilbert and Valerie ordered their meal at the
little café and as they sat at a table, Gilbert noticed that
Valerie was looking excited. She had something to tell
him. He ignored the little voice inside that said ‘she is
going to break up with you.’ Her excitement was happyexcitement, not anxious-excitement.
“I’ve found the perfect surname for us,” she exclaimed,
unable to contain herself any longer.
And there she was, waiting for him.
“Oh, wonderful. Well done. What is it?”
‘Rose, Lily, Forget-me-not, Love-in-a-mist …’
“Hello, Darling.” She plonked a fat wet kiss on his mouth
and he felt himself colour. “How is my gorgeous boy
today?”
Would he ever get used to this? To be kissed by a buxom
belle with come-to-bed eyes and curves in all the right
places was beyond his wildest dreams. How did she find
him attractive—a balding, skinny dentist, with a tendency
to wear brown? He had decided that it was best not to
question it, but to embrace it and enjoy the ride.
“Where shall we go to eat?”
“I quite fancy a burger today, if that is okay with you,”
Gilbert replied.
18
Once, Andromeda’s beauty had angered the gods.
Perseus rescued her and then claimed her as his prize.
Now the rolls of her flesh flowed like the angry sea, a
sea Perseus wanted no part of. Many days he wished
he hadn’t turned Phineus, her original betrothed, into
stone. Phineus now stood in the courtyard holding the
bag with the Gorgon’s head. If he could reverse the spell,
Perseus would have gladly given Andromeda back to
him.
“That was some good flying today,” he said, patting
Pegasus on the nose. “Couldn’t have done it without
you.”
‘These are obviously too ordinary. Tardis, Enterprise,
Defiant, Serenity … these are too me and not sufficiently
her.’
Gilbert Ramsbottom could still not quite believe that
he was getting married. The wrong side of forty and
the most boring, nondescript person in the known
universe—in his opinion—and he was getting married.
How had that happened? Gazing into the mouth of a
patient is not the most obvious way to meet the woman
you are going to marry, but for a dentist called Gilbert
there were not many options.
“This isn’t a democracy! I wanted you to do it!”
“Dearheart.”
“Pardon?”
“Dearheart. It’s from a Terry Pratchett book. Isn’t it
perfect?”
Well no, not really. It was too obvious, too clichéd, and
likely to cause as much ridicule as ‘Ramsbottom’. Gilbert
gazed into Valerie’s eyes. She gazed back like a child
offering a gift. Her look was open and artless—she truly
felt that ‘Dearheart’ was a wonderful surname to secure
the union of their love. He melted into her eyes, and
knew he could deny her nothing.
He heard himself say, “Yes, my love, it is indeed perfect.”
The winged steed nodded in agreement.
“Perseus, is that you?” a shrill voice called from within
the palace. A terrible shiver crawled down his back.
Pegasus snorted.
His dreams of a quieter life were interrupted by their
son Mestor running into the palace, his hand covering
his mouth and dripping blood.
“Easy, boy. You get to stay out here. I’m the one that
married her,” Perseus said softly to his steed.
“Son, what’s wrong?” Perseus said.
“Perseus, get in here. Now.”
“He probably ran into one of those damn statues you
have all over the place. It’s no wonder no one comes to
our parties,” Andromeda said.
“Yes, dear.”
Taking down the oiled sack that held the Medusa’s
head he placed it in the outstretched arms of a nearby
statue. A small hole caught on a stone finger and two
drops of the Gorgon’s blood fell to the earth. Instantly
two serpents formed and slithered off into the brush.
Perseus stepped casually over them.
Mestor nodded and let Perseus look at his mouth.
“A tooth is loose. I have to take him to Kevinicus, the
dentist.”
Perseus grabbed the boy and carried him out to Pegasus.
In seconds they were airbo