She never thought her name really fit. She used to imagine herself a Jennifer, with long blonde hair, and the bluest of eyes. Sometimes she was Regina, with auburn waves down to her shoulders, and eyes of fiery green . Longer lashes, longer legs. Same sweet smile, whiter teeth. Polished nails, polish personality. This was the way she saw herself, or at least the way she wanted to.
A rose by any other name, they said, would still smell as sweet.
So then why did she feel so nervous now, with the application clutched tightly in her hands, next in line at the city court office?
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