Mame. No one I have ever met has the same name as mine. Mame is the smell of an old book. Dusty to touch. Waiting to be discovered. Waiting to teach a lesson. To tell it’s story. 

My name is a very old fashioned name. Popular in the 1880s. I got my name from my great great grandmother. Mamie. 

My mom had thought up my name during her college years and had asked my grandmother if she had liked the name Mame. My grandma replied that it was her grandmother’s name. Instantly, mom knew that when she had a daughter, she would be Mame. 

Mame is as classic as the string of pearls tied around my mothers neck. For she had taught me to be my authentic self. 

Not be as perfect as a diamond but as unique as a pearl. I have this rare quality of being myself. Not letting others determine what's best for me. I march to the sound of my own drum.

Mame offers one syllable. no room for interpretation. What you see is what you get. An open book. Straightforward. And effortless. Like me. 

Mame is my name. Mame is who I am as a person. Mame is me.

But this is not the end of My story, this is only the beginning.