Elle Prose

A blog about nothing.

Category: Uncategorized

He came. He saw. He ruined September.

During an evening scroll through Twitter, I came across this thumbstopper tweeted by Dictionary.com-  “Why we call this month September.” I paused. I didn’t have any clue as to why September is called September and I thought it was weird that I didn’t, being particularly fond of words and their origins. I opened the link and read on.

September, as etymology has it, derives from the Latin word ‘septem’ which translates to the number seven in English.

And then it occurred to me, “September isn’t the seventh month of the year, it’s the ninth!”

I scrolled to the end of the article. Julius Caesar was credited for reforming the calendar.

Agitated, I googled “Julius Caesar calendar change douche bag” to further investigate and clicked on the first link Google surfaced.

As the story goes, back in the day of Ancient Rome, the calendar began with March. This means that April was the second month, May the third month and so forth. So, at one time, September was the seventh month of the year. This discontented Julius Caesar, who arbitrarily appointed January to ring in the new year. (Okay, he was actually well-intentioned and revised it for the sake of precision between lunar and solar years, but that’s besides the point.)

He may have brought order to Rome and dated one of the babeliest babes of ancient history, but he did no such justice to calendar. C’mon, if you’re going to go through the hassle of reforming a medium through which we organize and perceive time for accuracy, get the names right dammit.

I know the world is laden with human folly and this nominal error is inconsequential, but it’s just so lazy on behalf of Caesar and the chumps of Rome. Why didn’t anyone adjust the names of the months accordingly? September is not quite September anymore. Neither are October, November, or December, who are also mislabeled.

And the worst part? There’s absolutely nothing I can do about it- except inveigh those in higher power in my underrated blog.

…but there’s also a funny part. They unintentionally punned; the number seven symbolizes perfection.


I really don’t need a pen name. Rarely do I write something I don’t want linked to me. But, I’m greedy and want it all so I’m going to create a literary double anyway.

The first part of my pen name, Elle, has two origins.

Back in the 90s, the enterprise My Twinn sprung up offering little girls plastic versions of themselves, or as the company name suggests, a twin. Parents sent in photos of their children to be replicated in doll form. It’s completely narcissistic and weird in retrospect. The year the company debuted, I got one for Christmas.

I named my look alike Elle. I lugged her everywhere, her long stringy curls clenched between the fingers of my tiny fist as she schlepped behind me.

Elle didn’t last long. I was a malicious child (think Sid from Toy Story) and she was my target. I defiled her face with Crayola Crayons and cut off her long brown tresses because “she has cancer.” Or so I told my horrified parents.

I have no idea what happened to Elle. My mom most likely took her away and she’s probably moldering somewhere in the attic.

Now that I’m emotionally developed adult and I’ve learned to restrain my sociopathic inclinations, I feel a little guilty about what happened to Elle. That’s why I’m immortalizing her in my pen name.

‘Elle’ is also partly inspired by my favorite cinematic character, Elwood P. Dowd, from the 1950 film Harvey. Elwood is the delusional protagonist whose indifference to everything except whiskey and an imaginary six-foot rabbit moved me.

Obviously, I couldn’t have my name be Elwood unless I wanted to be textually transgendered. So, I shortened ‘Elwood’ to ‘Elle.’

As for my surname, Prose, I just melded it with Elle and thought, “Damn, that sounds good.”

Thus, Elle Prose was born.