In the last half decade or so, I’ve come to think of titles like bras: necessary packaging, holding everything together. The last thing I put on. Lately when I have to come up with a title, my husband and I play a game: he throws puns at me until one sticks. It’s quickly becoming my favorite game.

Here is the rejected batch from my latest column.

How Do You Solve a Problem Like Marilla?
My Aunts Make Me feel Like a Marillion Bucks
Anne Shirley Temple of Doom
Anne, Shirley You’re Joking
Like Aunts at a Picnic
You Say I Ain’t Worth a Dollar, But I feel like a Marillionaire
Marilla Gorilla
John Carpeter’s Ghosts of Marilla
Virtual Marillality
Marillory Clinton (or, Ready for Marillory SuperPAC)