I was reading an article the other day about the name change dilemma a lot of women contemplate when they get married. It struck me as interesting because The Boy and I were talking about how my decision to take his name has affected me.
Truthfully, other than the annoyance of having to get in contact with any financial institution I had previously been associated with, it really wasn’t that much of a headache. Plus, I got a bump up in the line when it comes to going in alphabetically order. Sweet!
The thing that is the strangest to me, though, is that, save 2 people, no-one in my current state of residence knows my maiden name. And not many people back home would remember what my new name was, if it weren’t for FaceBook.
Now, I did actually KEEP my maiden name, at least in one form: it’s now one of my middle names. In fact, for our last Christmas before we got married, The Boy bought me an awesome rolling bag and had what would be my new initials embroidered on it (trust me, though, no one could mistake this baggage as theirs and get away with it, even without the initials.) My school email also uses them.
That isn’t to say I have much of a familial attachment to my maiden name. Aside from my brother’s family and a few random cousins here and there (none of which actually HAVE the name), there just isn’t much there. There’s my father too, but, well, he’s an ass. My attachment is simply 30+ years of living with the name, spelling it over (and over, and over, because evidently it’s difficult) and re-pronouncing it over (and over, and over.) It kind of grew on me, so I decided I wanted it to hang around.
Some days though, I just miss my ‘z.’