You Can Call Me...

There's something quite special about nicknames. When used, they immediately bring back a memory, a time in your life that's long past. Of course, I'm sure my camp counselor that we called Trip Nip for her unusual anatomy is quite pleased to not have that moniker. And as a younger child, most of the nicknames handed to me were mean. "Fink" somehow morphed into "Finkelstein" which somehow evolved into "Frankenstein." Damn kids are cruel.

In high school, my good friend Niki and I would read Lord of the Flies aloud on the phone each night, rather than silently. Over 15 years later, she is still Ralph looking for the conch, and I am still Piggy who broke my specs.

College led to Lips, which I have mentioned before, as well as Finkster (real original.)

Which brings me to the current day. I want a new nickname. I know that Debbie is technically a nickname, but that doesn't count. And neither does Deb, which I hate. I want something fun. Like Bee.