Saturday, November 9, 2013

What's in a name?

I can't escape it.  My name, first name, has always been affixed to fecal matter.  Kids are cruel.  How do they do it?  Do they lay awake at night and think, "Aw, I've got a good one for that Bryant kid!"  Let me explain.

My nickname is "Bri".  I've used this name since high school.  My mother was disgusted that I had kids refer to me as any other than my rightfully given birth name.  In fact, she was so upset, that she often told callers that "no one by that name lives at this number".  I don't blame her.  She had a right to be annoyed.  After all I was ungrateful for the name she had chosen for me.

When people compliment me on what they think is my given name they'll ask, "Is it short for "Brianna?" and I'll say, "No, it's short for "Maria."

Quite honestly,  I hate getting into the long winded explanation that this answer demands so sometimes I'll agree or be a brat, smile, walk away and leave them confused.  If I feel like providing the information, I'll offer a half-truth like, "I grew up in Southern California where there were plenty of Marias walking about and I needed to be unique."  I've never offered the other half-truth until today.  Here it is.  I am not fond of the term, "Maria Diarrhea".  Seriously?!

With this information finally out of the closet, everyone, including my nieces and nephews, call me Bri or Breezy...with one exception, Elsa Britton.  Last night, I discovered she passed away unexpectedly on Wednesday evening.  I'm truly heartbroken.  Elsa was a lovely lady with whom I had the honor of working with until I moved to Colorado.  She was always smiling, teasing, laughing, and always calling me...Breezy Pooh.