Name Game Shame

I hate my name.  What is “Cindy”, anyway?  A few things come to mind:

  • Cheerleader
  • Trophy Wife (Second Place)
  • The 1980s
I see you switched your "I" and "Y".  Well played, Ms. Lauper.  Well played.

Gorgeous.

Yet, while I have done all things great and numerous to earn me the (by now resigned) disappointment of my parents, the one thing I will never do is change the name they gave me.

You just can’t give back a name, like it’s a sweater that doesn’t fit even if that’s exactly what it is.  It’s not the gift so much as the gift of the gift, you know?  Also after, like, 30 days or so there’s no point in returning it.

It’s yours.

Would a Cindy by any other name smell as sweet?

I will never know.

But I have decided that if my name is to be my name (such as it is), then my name shall live up to me.

I will wear that goddamn sweater till it goddamn FITS, goddammit!!!!!

I will make it so.  I will.

How?

CLIMBING MOUNTAINS!

PUNCHING BITCHES!!

DOING IRONY!!!

Yes.  My name will be honoured to honour me; to be made what it is because of ME.

Unfortunately…

…with every uncompleted task, every unfulfilled life goal, every unfinished sandwich and unwashed dish, “Cindy” has an ample head start.

Not to mention my continuing escapades with hangry fallout.

Not to mention that underemployed is unemployed with working weekends.

Not to mention being simultaneously overeducated and underskilled.

Well.

Fine.

FINE.

Go ahead.

Call me Cindy.

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