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Sitting in my local Dunkin’ Donuts. Woman comes to the counter to take my order. Her name tag reads RUBY.

I love the name Ruby. Plus, she looks pretty tired and miserable. “Ruby,” I say. “Great name.”

“Thank you,” she mumbles.

“You like your name?” I say. “It’s great.”

“No,” she says. “Hate it.”

“Why?” I ask.

“There’s a song ‘Ruby.’ There’s the restaurant. I don’t like it.”

She gives me my drink, and I quickly note that, back in the day, the youngest daughter on “The Cosby Show” was Ruby.

Ruby shrugs at me, says, “I don’t know what that is.”

She’s too young.

Plus, I remember in hindsight, the kid’s name was actually Rudy.

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