Back in the 1980s, when I was at the peak of my Italomania, Jay came home from work and mentioned that some visitors from Italy had been to his plant that day. I went crazy! Where in Italy? What were their names?? He hesitated (never good with names) and then said, “I’m not sure, but I think one was called ChiChi Fargo.” Bingo! Of course, the visitor was not called ChiChi Fargo, but from that moment on, I was. It was just too good a name to waste. I use it for online Groupon-type services, Facebook, Fab.com, you name it. I am ChiChi to my Puerto Rican friends, to my Spanish tutor, to many others. And so I was delighted to see that my placecard at my friend Brooks’s 30th-birthday dinner was prepared (by his delightful eight-year-old stepsister Mary) as seen above.
Aha! Mystery solved.
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