...It’s Siobhan. Juliet is one of those people who will do anything to keep her middle name a secret.
“…Not that there’s anything wrong with the name,” she’d add, worriedly glancing over her shoulder like a mob of angry girls named Siobhan would suddenly hurtle toward us with pitchforks, “It just isn’t me.”
And I would nod carefully in agreement.
In my own opinion, everything having to do with Juliet, anything she touches, talks about, or smiles at, is her.
She’s a messy person, but creatively so; everything around her always seems more colorful.
Oh, and about her first name. She’s not a big fan of that one, either. (Probably, if given the option, Juliet would go to court and legally change her name to something like Guitar-Playing-Really-Awesome-Chick-Who-Has-Size-Six-Feet. Which is something else you probably didn’t know. Her shoe size.)
She would always tell me, “I mean, Juliet is just so traditional. Does that make sense? Big whoop, I’m named after a girl who’s famous for killing herself.”
Because Juliet just doesn’t get it. The Shakespeare Juliet isn’t famous for killing herself. She’s famous for her amazing, legendary love.
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