I’ve shared a time or two that over the years, and thanks to my wifey, I have taken to being called Vee. It was foreign to have a nickname to me, being as all my years of growing up I was merely known as Virginia. It isn’t because there was lack of effort, friends, because shit did everyone and their mother try to give me a shortened version of that. Except my own mother.
There was Vicky. Almost every damn Mexican friend or family member of mine tried to throw that gem at me. Uh uh. Nope. #Hardpass. I am NOT a Vicky. I don’t even know why it would just make me mad beyond belief when I would hear it hurled my way. It just did. Call me Vicky and we are not friends and I’m probably shooting death daggers out of my eyes at you. Then there’s Gina. Ginny. Virg. <–Oh YEAH. THAT happens more often than you think. Insert eye roll. There were a select few that tried to get Gonzo rolling in college and I abhorred that but let it fly because it was UW and I was trying to fit in. Let’s see….oh, the a-hole elementary kids I went to school with tried to pin me down with Virgin. So original. I may be rolling my eyes again. It wouldn’t be a stretch if you guessed that some of those dweebs tried to call me Vagina but always got themselves caught and in trouble (YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE) so whatevs on that.
It got me thinking. Did my Dad ever think that naming me after my Great-Grandma would cause me so much grief? Was he ever like, well, it DOES sound like a body part if you’re dedicated enough to trying to make someone feel bad….hmmmm. I’m guessing no. I also think his Great Grams probably never got teased like that. Mexico can be so much more mature than the USA sometimes, guys. They don’t have time for that ish.
It doesn’t end with the constant want of giving me a nickname. I get that my name has eight letters and that’s too much for us lazies. Yet bear with me. There’s the MISSPELLING. Ohhhhhhmaaaaagaaaawwwwddd, if we could just remember, just ONCE, that my name is a state. It’s one of the original thirteen colonies, for all that is mighty! And yet, constantly, an ‘i’ is forgotten. And it’s always the most needed one. Lol.
It reminds me of this time, a few Christmases ago. My Mom happily handed me a gift, wrapped exquisitely and proceeded to play Santa with the rest of the fam. After reading the tag, I shot my hand up so fast. “Excuse me, Mom. This gift isn’t mine.” She turned, confused. “It is,” she reassured me. “Nope. Uh uh. It can’t be,” I fired back. “It says, To VirGINA (read: ver-jYna).” Everyone had a good laugh, she shot something equally as funny back and life carried on. It just didn’t stop there.
Now, I know there’s a certain coffee place (you know the one) that tries their hardest (or do they?) to put your name on their cup. It’s that clever marketing, because it makes you feel welcomed, like a friend when they call you up to the counter for your Americano or macchiato or whatevs. I mean, does it really matter? Maybe they know they are spelling it wrong just to get a rise out of you. Or maybe it’s to show you that life is short and there could be better ways to imagine your name.
Either way, I laugh at the many misspellings my old lady, stately name has brought out of people. Don’t think for one second that when I say “Vee” it’s always correct, either! I would love to hear about things you have personally seen in respect to your name, because even the easiest ones can be SO MINSCONSTRUED! And let’s all laugh at it, because like I said earlier, LIFE.IS.SHORT. And I may have been clapping at that last part.