The curse of the J*******r's

I admit, I am a bit prejudiced against the name Jennifer. I am sure there are a lot of nice Jennifers out there. I've even known a couple. It doesn't stop me from kind of wincing when someone says that's their name. If I'd have given birth to a girl and Jennifer was my only name choice, she'd have to be nameless maybe. I suppose it starts in high school as many pivotal bad memories always do. All I wanted was for boys to notice me. The girl getting a lot of notice was hip wiggling, come hither Jennifer. I can honestly say I was a lot more attractive than her. But she had that "vibe" that was the pied piper pull to many of the hormonally charged male population of my high school. I guess it didn't help that my parents were anti dating fanatics, limiting my options a bit. Then I later find out that the woman responsible for f-----g up my husbands head the most before he met me was named Jennifer. Before I met George, I was insanely in love with a man who eventually f-----d my head up forever after. It was a bitter pill to swallow, learning that the woman who was worthy of his eventual love was- who else, Jennifer, NOT me. I guess it's good that George and I met and repaired some of the damage for each other. Scattered through the intervening years there have been a few Jennifers whom haven't caused my teeth to grind. Jennifer J was a nice person. Jennifer D was a misunderstood, slightly unhinged, but deep down good person with a lot of hardships to overcome. When my best friend tells me her life is being ruined at work by someone named Jennifer, I think..."but, of course!!"