Last week, I was walking away from the school, having just retrieved Chooch, when I heard a series of “Mrs. Robbins!”s coming from the school steps. It didn’t dawn on me until the third call that the teacher’s aid was actually yelling for me, the decidedly non-missus.
I responded awkwardly and unnaturally, because, well – that’s just not my name.
On Monday, the same thing happened. This time I responded after hearing her call it twice.
I considered correcting her, telling her that it’s MISS KELLY, thank you. But that’s just as weird to me, because this non-marriage thing is kind of like my pet stigma, and I drag it around everywhere with me on a leash. Just bought it a new collar, actually, in a pretty shade of non-commital.
Oh, I know, I know – no one cares, it doesn’t matter, blah blah blah. Says you. I don’t care what other people think. It’s what I think. The end.
This morning, Henry and I were talking about this in the bathroom. That’s where all the good conversations happen. It’s also where I tried to kill him one time. Anyway, I was whining about it (I know, try really hard to imagine that one) and Henry asked, “What’s the big deal?”
“It offends me!” I cried. “And just so you know, if we ever get married, I’m not taking your name anyway.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” Henry muttered.
“I’ll use it as my opportunity to have my last name legally changed to Appledale,” I said, the idea just then coming to me. “Will you change your name to Appledale too?”
“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Henry grumbled, leaving me in the bathroom alone. I shrugged and turned my attention back to putting on eyeshadow.No tags for this post.