Just Call Me Tracey

I was reading on another blog last night about a mom who has this neighbor, who after two years still calls the son by the dog's name...hehe. So I mentioned last week that Stella calls me Tracey. She's never called me by my actual name. In the beginning it was clear that she really didn't realize my name is Stacey. It made me mad and I tried all the time to correct her, in subtle ways. She knows my name is Stacey, she's got to. I'll call her up and Identify myself, or Zach will reference me in conversation. Who the hell does she think is Stacey if not me? And what's up with Tracey? To all you people who aren't named Stacey, it might sound like pretty much the same thing, just a wee bit different. To me though, it evokes a completely different image, a completely different person, not remotely like who I am.

Anyway, it doesn't bother me anymore. I like it now. It's endearing and it's our 'thing'. It's just funny when she introduces me to people, as she did yesterday with one of our other neighbors. This lady, Ann, looked at me and said, "Hi Tracey, nice to meet you." and it was totally weird. That lady is always going to think of me as a Tracey and I feel like it's going to change the way people look at me. What must she think about me? Tracey is just such a random name (random in a good way, incase anyone reading this is Tracey, or Tracy, or Tracie...). So here I am as Tracey, random, boring, blah. Weird. And don't tell me that you don't draw an immediate impression of someone based on their name. It's interesting though, I can completely reinvent myself if I want. I can go with the Tracey thing and be different than I am. I can ask myself each step of the way, "What would Tracey do?"

Back to Stella though...where is she coming from with this? What is her point in mis-naming me? Maybe she has some hidden wisdom, and she's trying to give me the gift of a second identity, one I can escape to when the stay-at-home mom woes are too much to bear. Perhaps Tracey is the name of the daughter she always dreamed of having, so rather than creating an alternative universe for me, she living out one of her own. Or might there have been a Stacey she grew up with who was a bitch? It could be she doesn't approve of my name, just like she won't give her blessing to the vegetarian thing or the homeschooling thing. Maybe she's just testing me, seeing how long she can get away with it, sitting at home right now, laughing and wondering how, in almost four years, I haven't yet realized she's been calling me Tracey.