They gave me a name that didn’t suit me. What’s funny is the universe recognized that before I did.
She paid me this compliment:
“There’s too much person to you. You can’t be tripped up with so many syllables in something so trivial as a name. Less speaking, more breathing,” she said.
Four reduced to two. Now I can exist in half the time.
I became “Bitsy.” Which means I’m associated with certain things. Mainly tiny spiders and brightly pattered swimwear. It’s easy to be irked by that, you know. Yet, I smile and take it, because they raised me with the patience of an idiot.
I get automatic cute points just for introducing myself with a name like this. Newcomers get giddy, like hearing my name is equivalent to receiving a box of kittens. I always try to drop an expletive or two— I just don’t want them to get the wrong f#@%ing impression.
“Less speaking, more breathing.”
I instructed the universe not to do me any more favors.
I don't mind being Bitsy, really. Sometimes a lady's just got to ***** a bit.