About a month ago, I changed my name on my profile from Sue to Suebob. I know some people noticed because they commented, so I should explain.
It is not a sign of burgeoning transsexuality or of an overweening devotion to a partner named "Bob."
Suebob was simply a college nickname (thanks, Stace) that stuck. My whole name, first and last, is a total of eight letters and it is boring as hell. Names that are boring as hell are forgettable names. People were constantly, upon meeting me for the second time, saying "Hi Carol," "Hi Karen," "Debbie?" or any of a bunch of other super common names for a woman of my era (which was, in case you are wondering a long, long, time ago.
When I started going by Suebob, no one ever forgot my name. I got a few "Bobby Sue"s and other permutations, but people were generally on track. And with people who knew me well, it became a joyous shout, kind of like "Norm!" on Cheers. I would walk in somewhere and everyone would yell "Suebob!" just because "Suebob!" is a fun thing to yell.
I had Suebob on my business cards. My mom called me Suebob. I was Suebob.
But then I met Mr. Stapler, who travelled in a much more grown up and serious world than me. I could tell he didn't like "Suebob" and in deference to him, I started going by Sue again and again began dealing with people who could not remember my name.
I thought it was probably a good thing. Time for me to finally grow up and get serious. I got a serious job and more serious clothes and tried to act more my age.
The only problem was that it didn't work. Right under the surface of Sue, there was still the dreamy, goofy girl, living like a weed trapped under pavement. And you know how those weeds are. They find the tiniest crack and a drop of water and they are sprouting up again. This spring the rains came and the weeds grew, and there Suebob was, blooming like a dandelion in the breeze.
On Linkateria today: C-section stories, parents driving you batty and news from an urban farm.