And speaking of labeling (see yesterday's blog), Marash Girl has to admit that it happens every day. We DO judge a book by its cover, or a person by the cut of his coat (if he's wearing one . . . that may be why Marash Boy never wears a coat no matter how cold the New England weather). Very early on, Marash Boy made a pact with Marash Girl not to play the game, that they would do whatever it was in their power to avoid labeling and being labeled (except for what folks could do with their clothes, the cut of their hair, and their New England accent), and so they were persona non grata at parties where the first question anyone asked (when they were younger) was, "Where did you go to school?" or "What did you major in?" (even though that question ended in a preposition), and later, "What do you do?" and even later, "Do you have children? How many?" And so it became a game to avoid being labeled, to avoid being pigeon holed, to be creative enough during any conversation to avoid answering any such questions, and concentrate on the more important subjects: (you may fill in whatever you want here.) But for all of our efforts, we have to admit. Our names label us. Our faces label us. We are, after all, Marash Boy and Marash Girl.