I had a photo shoot this evening. It's time to replace my professional photos that look like me--five years back. I don't mind getting older and my hair turning gray, but when my grandson refused to believe the picture on the poster was me, I knew I had to get new photos. (He relented after I put on make-up. "Okay," he said, "I guess make-up can do all that!")
During the shoot, the photographer told me this story.
There was a man whose name was Odd. He didn't like it much, but it's what his mother had gven him at birth so he lived with it. But he told his wife, "Be blamed if I'm going to be Odd after I die. When the time comes, I don't want you to put my name on my gravestone."
His wife agreed to heed his wishes. When Odd died, only his birth and death dates were recorded on the stone.
As the years past, visitors to the graveyard would pause when they saw his stone, and say to each other,
"Look at this grave! Isn't that Odd?"