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Help[Facts] Need help remembering a name
Someone metioned a name and I can't remember exactly what she said. All I remember is it sounded like (and I'll type this the best I can) "Milasant". I doubt that is how it is spelled because I can't find it on this site. I also heard the name on The West Wing, if that helps.
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The name is "Millicent" and I'm ASTOUNDED it's not on here. In its nickname form "Millie", it was even the name of Geo. and Barbara Bush's dog!
One site I found sez it's French and means "of a thousand saints".
HEY, MR. MIKE! YA GOTTA ADD THIS ONE!
One site I found sez it's French and means "of a thousand saints".
HEY, MR. MIKE! YA GOTTA ADD THIS ONE!
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Hi,
I was wondering how you pronounce your name, Davidh.
Thanks,
Andrea
I was wondering how you pronounce your name, Davidh.
Thanks,
Andrea
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Technically it's very similar to "davey" but in the area of eastern Scotland my family came from, my grandfather said it was more often pronounced "day-vit" (with the "t" sound, not a "d").
When I was growing up, hearing "davey" meant all was cool, while
"day-vit" meant either trouble or it was my grandfather talking. However, the second version fits a middle-aged guy better, in my opinion. I also answer to Dave, which I use at work.
When I was growing up, hearing "davey" meant all was cool, while
"day-vit" meant either trouble or it was my grandfather talking. However, the second version fits a middle-aged guy better, in my opinion. I also answer to Dave, which I use at work.
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Thank you, Daividh
:)
:)
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Cool! You're from Scotland? So am I!
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Actually, I was born here altho my dad was still a Brit citizen (from Dundee)and mom was a (naturalized) Irish lass. I still have a lot of relatives (aunts, uncles, cousins) in both Angus and Fife.
We lived in a comfortingly blue-collar 3-generation Celtic household when I was younger, filled with thick accents, running family feuds, and the stink of blood sausage. Life was good.
We lived in a comfortingly blue-collar 3-generation Celtic household when I was younger, filled with thick accents, running family feuds, and the stink of blood sausage. Life was good.
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That was before my dad's career-enhancing move away from our cultural base when I was 10. Almost overnight, we became transformed into Average Americans (aka Beaver Cleaverdom). How my parents carried off this masquerade, I'll never figure out.
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Thanks very much, Davidh.
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