MIX(B) AND MATCH(B)

A few years ago, Sister called me hysterically laughing. She could barely breathe though her giggles and, as Sister is famous in her family for her verbal mishaps (example, upon returning from a 6 week trip to Thailand, Sister informed everyone in the photo store that she “teached” English to refugees! Hahaha), I eagerly anticipated the story to follow. Turns out that Sister was working for a company called L____. She was new but hard working and very dedicated. Her boss was looking to reward her by placing her on an elite team within L____ and the following conversation ensued (although you have to say it out loud to get the full flavor).

Boss: Sister, do you know what LAM is?
Sister: A baby sheep… something you eat?
Boss: No. It’s an acronym. It stands for L____ Asset Management.
Sister: Oh, I get it. The “B” is also silent.
Boss: (shaking head) There is no “B”

From then on, no matter what people in my family spell, we add a “B” to the end. For example, cards are now always signed: To Mom, Love(b) Farf. We have been laughing for years over this one. Husband thinks this and some of Sister’s other stories (to be posted later after obtaining permission) are hilarious and adds a “B” to everything. (Example, when I walk into the bathroom while he is plucking ingrown hairs, Husband generally barks at me “Get OUT. O-U-T-B. OUT!”)

I love that Husband had taken so well to my family. And I guess I have taken well to his. At least in name. Almost nine months to the date after her wedding, Farf Birth Name has ceased to exist. Yup, I got my new passport last night (just in time for London trip, I may add) and it lists me as Farf Married Name. The transformation is complete and there is no more record of Farf Birth Name other than the actual certificate of birth.

I willingly, eagerly even, changed my name. To me, changing my name was not an identity loss and more than anything, it was part of the fun of getting married. Husband would have been supportive no matter what I called myself, but I wanted to take his name. This was not a statement of feminism or some sort of backlash, it was just the choice I became comfortable with. Technically, I moved my birth name to my middle name and dropped by middle name entirely (I never loved it anyway or felt any particular affinity to it) and am now Farf Birth Name Married Name.

Still, it was weird to see the last piece of official identification proclaiming me with a new name (and a fabulous passport picture – I was so skinny and tan!) until Husband reminded me that life is a series of identity changes and he has taken bits of my identity as much as I have taken his.

I immediately felt reassured when he told me this morning that I could do what I wanted about the passport, but until London at least (the tickets are under Married Name), I had to consider the entire thing a done deal. D-O-N-E-B. Done.