My name is Sherry Lynne. It just screams "I was born in the 1950s!" I haven't always been completely thrilled with my name, but now I think it's kind of fun. Being a Mormon and a tee-totaler, having an alcoholic name is a bit odd, but I prefer to think of it as an English version of the French Cherie, which means "darling." That's much nicer.
My extended family (particularly some of my pesky cousins), being of good, solid, Southern stock, love to call me Sherry Lynne, but no one else does that to me. Of course I call them Rita Jo and David Dean, so all is fair.
My own children love to tease me with the Frankie Valley and the Four Seasons song that starts out "She-eee-eee-eeerry, baby, Sherry baby." That is a truly revolting song, but they swear that it will be the theme song at my 50th birthday party next year. I might let them live through it (though I did deliberately avoid the "Jersey Girls" show on Broadway when we were there last month).