If they only knew

Do you think my clients would still deferentially call me "Dr. Singin" if they knew I am adorned in one of these?


Speaking of my name, you must read this.

Puzzled people at polling place

I voted. It went down like this:

I handed the pollster my driver's license. The pollster, who has been looking at driver's licenses all day, could not locate my name on my license. Aren't all driver's licenses in a state the same?



Trop: "S_ _ _ _, Kimberly."

Pollster: "I never heard THAT name before."

Trop: [feeling chatty] "It's Asian-Indian."

[pollster looks up, notices my WHITEness]

Trop: "It's my husband's name."

Pollster: [paging through green-bar to the "S" surnames] "Oh my! There are TWO of you."

Trop: [gesturing to Court, standing behind me] "Oh yeah. That's Courtney. She's my wife."

My cursed name

My surname, which is that of my ex-husband, is a simple five-letter, two-syllable name that is spelled just like it sounds, and sounds just like it's spelled. And no matter how slowly and how clearly I say it, no one seems to get it right.

We had to go through hospital admissions this morning because Amanda is an outpatient for the day. I had to say and spell our name FIVE fucking times for the 90-year-old fossil staffing the admitting desk.

My surname begins with an S and its spelling does not include the letter "g." Yet when people read it aloud, invariably they add a "g." For the longest time Court teasingly called me "Dr. Singin" because an instructor in her department thought that was my name (and of course this instructor insists I'm a "he" because doctors are male, don't ya know). Those of you who know my name must be wondering how someone can get "Singin" from the spelling, but they do.

Despite all this, Courtney took the surname when she married me. Just call her "Mrs. Singin."