The Move Pt 3: Nomenclature

Richard lay splayed out across the couch in nothing but his boxer shorts. And why shouldn't he? For these were no ordinary pair of boxer shorts. No, these were the sort of high-end quality boxer shorts you would expect to see on movie-stars or male models... not that one would of course be in a position to witness such a thing; but you could imagine that if you were to see a famous actor remove his trousers, then these would be the boxer shorts he would be wearing underneath.
You could always tell these boxer shorts apart from the more common type of underwear, due to the designer's name being written across the elasticated waist band at the top. These therefore encouraged wearers of said undergarments to don a pair of 'low-rise' or 'hipster' jeans that would fall just below the waist thus revealing the designer's name for the world to see.
For Richard this was a symbol of status. He thought to himself how unfortunate were those people who were ashamed to display their underwear because they were 'tacky', for lack of a better word. Boxers bought from Top Man, Burtons, or God forbid... H&M. No, it was certainly for the best that they kept their ghastly underwear well and truly hidden from his line of sight.

Richard was currently enjoying another well deserved day off at the expense of his ever dutiful girlfriend, Rachael. Since meeting Rachael, Richard had "lost" his job and become reliant on her good nature and incredible good fortune, for you see, Rachael, unlike many other twenty-something's in the City of London, owned her own flat in that increasingly desirable hotbed of wealth that was West Hampstead. But she did not pay for this, not a single penny. It was instead left to her by her late grandmother, Ms. Dorothy Burbridge the Third. Why anyone would name their child Dorothy was beyond Richard, but to name three children Dorothy was madness. There was of course a perfectly reasonable explanation for this bizarre occurrence that Rachael felt was worth wasting Richard's time over:

The late Mr. Burbridge, great grandfather to Rachael, was overjoyed that his wife was expecting a child. In those days one did not know if one was to give birth to a boy or a girl, so names had been chosen for both. If it was a boy, he would be a called George: A strong English name. If it was to be a girl, it would be Dorothy.
When the baby was due to be born, the housekeeper Ethel, ran to Mr. Burbridge informing him that his wife would very much like his presence in the birthing room. Mr. Burbridge, being the ever doting husband that he was, could never refuse a request from his wife, and was up there in a flash!
A short while later, the cries of a baby could be heard, and the doctor proudly announced "It's a girl!", to which Mr. Burbridge happily responded "And she shall be named Dorothy". All in all, it had been rather painless experience for poor Mr. Burbridge, who was not sure he could ever look at his wife in the same way again, for you must remember that during these times, the husband would always be kept away from the spectacle of child birth, preferring of course to be waiting outside, cigar in hand.
Feeling that his duty was done, Mr. Burbridge was on his way out when the doctor called him back.
"We're not done here I'm afraid Sir."
"What the devil do you mean, not done? If there's anything to be signed, my house keeper Ethel can bring it to my study." Mr. Burbridge snapped.
"You misunderstand me Sir. What I mean to say is, there's another one." The doctor explained.
"Another one?"
"Yes Sir. Another child."

As you can imagine, Mr. Burbridge felt rather dizzy at this news. He dreaded to think how his poor wife must have felt lying in that bed, her face and body covered in sweat, having been awake for countless hours in pain. Maintaining a stiff upper lip, Mr. Burbridge turned back to the bed and remained by his wife's side.
A short while later, the doctor produced another baby girl.
"You're not hiding any more in there are you my dear?" Mr. Burbridge said jokingly to his wife.
"Actually..." The doctor's voice trailed off as he ducked under the sheets to retrieve yet another child.
This was all too much for Mr. Burbridge who was starting to feel rather faint.
"It's another girl... three girls, all identical. Congratulations Sir." The doctor said with pride, as though he had given birth to them himself.
Mrs. Burbridge had now collapsed into an unsightly heap upon the bed and Mr. Burbridge could barely speak for shock had taken him.
"What will you name them Sir?" Ethel asked excitedly, to which a dazed Mr. Burbridge could only stammer "Dorothy... Dorothy..." before falling to the floor.
And so it came to be that the Burbridges gave birth to three girls, all named Dorothy, the youngest of whom, Dorothy Burbridge the Third would grow to be the grandmother of Richard's latest girlfriend, Rachael Freeman.

Nomenclature aside, Richard felt he had done fairly well obtaining Rachael. With Rachael, he didn't need to have a job. She may not have had the highest paid position in the world, but not having to pay rent meant that she had a lot of money to put aside each month... money that could be spent on him. And why shouldn't it be? After all, in the old days a man would work and the woman would stay at home. He would bring in the money, and she would spend it. When the credit card was invented, many men were unable to keep up with the debts their wives brought upon them. So why should Richard not enjoy that which women had enjoyed for many years. Let his partner work, and let him spend the money. Women were always banging on about equality, well here you go! Let it never be said that Richard Kingly was not a supporter of the Women's Rights.

After all said and done, the truth is, Rachael was lucky to be with him. Richard knew he was quite the catch. Girls had a habit of falling in love with him. He was certainly not lacking in the aesthetic department; he kept his body in good shape; he read the daily free paper and picked up enough titbits of information to hold a conversation about almost anything; and most importantly, he oozed confidence. "If there's one thing a woman loves," his father explained to Richard one day "it's confidence in a man", and this was a lesson he had ingrained into his very being; one that had not let him down since. It was how he had "won" Rachael. Well, he knew who the real prize was in the relationship... and it wasn't Rachael. She was nice enough, and certainly not painful to look at; but Richard was certain that if it wasn't for the money, their relationship would have ended after a series of one-night-stands.
Obviously no money comes for free, and Rachael was nothing short of a slave driver. Her current focus was on making sure Richard found a job, to which end she had entrusted him the use of her laptop during the day. Richard had no intention of looking for a job, but he had to at least make it seem as though he were trying, in order to placate Rachael. He would say he had spent all day searching and applying, but there was simply nothing out there. No one wanted to hire someone who was made redundant from his last job. Another white lie of course. Richard was not made redundant, but instead chose to leave when he felt that his relationship with Rachael was concrete enough that he would be able to move in with her. He said temporarily at first, obviously, but with no intention of leaving any time soon. Now, whenever she would give him a hard time about job applications he would give her a smouldering look and say "Of course... it's easy for you baby. You've never lost a job before. You're lucky that your company is safe during these troubled times. I hope you never have to experience what I did..." and so on, until she would apologise in tears and kiss him dearly. Game, set, and match: Richard.

Richard was now sitting in front of the television with the laptop in tow. Neither the channel on the television, nor the laptop were displaying anything to do with job hunting, but instead depicted scenes that were certainly not suitable for anyone below the age of consent.
'I know what...' thought Richard to himself, 'I'll throw her bone. Let her know I'm thinking of her. Women love that.' Richard then reached for his mobile phone and sent Rachael a text message of an... adult nature.
No response. That was certainly strange Richard thought. Rachael usually replied instantly to his messages. He waited a short while and tried again. This time the response was rapid:
"Go look for work you naughty boy ;) I have a meeting. I'll see you soon xxxxxx".
'The nerve!' Richard was livid. 'How dare she dismiss me like that?'. Well, that was that. Richard had tried to be nice. He had given her a chance, but if she wasn't interested, then he would simply have to go elsewhere. It was then that he remembered the rather attractive barista who worked at the coffee shop at the end of the road. He had seen her admiring him from behind trays of muffins. Surely she would be getting out of work soon. There was only one way to find out.
Richard pulled on a pair of 'low-risers' and a tee-shirt and left the flat.