Pretentious: The Indignity of an Irony

Pretentious never quite knew just why his parents had named him Pretentious. Nor did he ever learn to understand what it meant. He only knew that while other children in his class could write their names on colored paper with green crayons, Pretentious couldn't remember how to spell his own name until nearly third grade. And by then, he was all but too old to use green crayons. This gave a gentle melancholy to his countenance. For whenever the girl at the next desk asked him a question, such as, "I'm Petunia. What's your name?", Pretentious could only shift his weight to his other leg, writhe in awkwardity for a moment, and then shrug, letting out a long sigh of relief that meant the moment of pain was over. For now.

Petunia, the lovely little red-headed girl who lived down the street, was, as her name suggested, simple yet elegant. Her books never fell out of her backpack in the hallway. Her knees were never scabby. Her lunch pail was never packed with watercress sandwiches and pickle juice. And above all, her name made perfect sense to Pretentious.

Every morning when Pretentious walked to school, he kept precisely four yards behind Petunia, who walked precisely (as best as Pretentious could reckon, anyways) six yards behind the rest of the school children. She walked alone, quietly reading a book to herself. Pretentious couldn't read and walk at the same time. He had tried once. But when he tripped over Precocious, he realized that it was for the birds.

Precocious was Pretentious' Jack Russell Terrier; a happy little dog with large ears and a very small tail. It was never determined if the tail came that way, or if it had had some help in diminishing to the little stub that now sat atop his behind. But it didn't matter. Pretentious loved him anyways. They were both misfits, and they both had long P names. That alone was enough to send a life-long appreciation whirling into existence.

Every morning, at precisely 8:01, Pretentious would bundle up and, with Precocious hopping reassuringly alongside, head out into the big wide world for yet another day. Each day faced new troubles and woes... but though Pretentious was never quiet jubilant, he never minded much. So long as he had Precocious by his side, and so long as he had the prospect of walking behind the lovely Petunia, every day was not a mishap – but an adventure.

And that was always something Pretentious could spell out for himself.