You know, she's far from my worst enemy, but your question jogged a memory--my college sweetheart and I were together for seven, maybe eight years. As happens in relationships that long, possible kids' names come up.

We decided if we ever had a son, we'd name him Max.

Not the most original name, to be sure, but there was a whole story behind it: once, when we broke up for a bit, her roommates let me into her room to set up a betta tank.

Better than flowers? Who knows? A risky move, especially since at the time her apartment was like two blocks from O.J.'s infamous estate a couple of years after that time.

But whatever. It worked. She named the fish Max. A few more years together passed, as well as many conversations about naming children I really wasn't trying to hear...

More time passed. We parted amicably; we had drifted apart.

A few years later, I went to her wedding, and cheered her happiness all the night long. No regrets, no hang-ups.

A few months later, I went to their housewarming. Wonderful to see her happy. We were all grown-up.

Fast-forward into the future. She named their kid Max.

Cunt.

Now, the kid is like double-digits old, but I still sometimes think, since we're all facebook friends or whatever in this weird digital future where the past never entirely leaves you, I oughta send her husband a message and ask: did you know she named your kid after us?

All that aside, assuming my worst enemy was a white boy with a white wife, I'd name his kid LaDemarius Tall Crow. Every PTA meeting, every elementary-school Thanksgiving with the turkey mitts, they'd be taken out back for lectures on their cultural insensitivity.

Water torture.