I feel the need to confess. The burden has grown in the last few months and I can no longer carry it.
I don’t do nicknames. In fact … I hate nicknames.
My nickname phobia has one major exception.
If, when we meet, I’m introduced to you by your nickname, I will happily call you by the nickname for the rest of eternity.
But you cannot be introduced to me as … Millicent Penelope Ewing, and then a few months or a few years later decide that you wish to be called Millie Pillie. You are in my brain as Millicent and Millicent you shall forever be.
So people who wish to be called by a nickname and wonder why I don’t go along, now you know.
It seems to me that if your parents wanted to name you Millipede or Sista Pup, or any of the many, many variations of every name created by younger siblings learning to talk, your parents would have named you that to begin with.
I’m not ranting or upset, I just thought I should explain why I continue to call you and/or your kids by the name I met you as.
I’ve tried to do the nickname thing. I’ve tried to come up with them, I’ve tried to call others by them. The best I can do is a kind of halting, swallowed amalgamation of your given name and your nickname.
I finally gave up. Millicent you were, Millicent you are, and Millicent you forever will be. Just saying … It’s a thing with me.
What’s your “thing”? Who else has something kind of weird, kind of goofy that they can’t go along with? I’m dying to know.
Well, not literally “dying,” but genuinely curious. Really!