conception, college and my mother is a gypsy

Liz got my name from a headstone. Or, at least that’s what she told me. She was working as a mausoleum clerk and shacking up with a guy that called himself Dodge around the time I was conceived.

While his real name was Roger, I couldn’t help but admire how well Dodge befits him. As the story goes for most teenage pregnancies, Roger dodged when Liz dropped the ‘p’ word.

Liz describes the next nine months as the worst of her life. “No one wants to shack up with the pregnant chick, Aggie.” She reminds me.

Coincidentally, those nine months may be the longest she’s ever gone sans beau, but I digress.

I would consider Liz something of a gypsy. In the eighteen years with Liz, I’d lived in five different states. Liz fancies herself a science fiction author, but she’s had to hold several low paying jobs to make ends meet.

 Currently she’s working in the lingerie department in Target while shacking up with Bail Bondsman Bernie.

Now, I’ve never met Bernie, as he’s a fairly recent development and this is my second semester in college, but Liz assures me that he’s a “superb” sort of guy. Frankly, when I think of Bernie I imagine overweight and balding and those attributes aren’t typically something I associate with superb, but Liz is notorious for thinking the best of people.

She’s also notorious for her erratic behavior, which is why I opted for WVU as my choice college over Ohio U where Liz currently presides.

However, distance isn’t the only reason why I chose WVU. Who really chooses WVU for trivial things like distance or academic rating anyway?

While I can laughingly say I chose it because of its party school rating (#1!), it all boils down to the MAPI organization.