I had a nickname. It was perky. I am not perky.
I had a nickname. It ended in an “I”, although most people who hear the nickname spell it wrong.
I had a nickname that brings to mind cheerleaders, school spirit leaders and the possibility of a role as a Stepford Wife.
I had a nickname that took years to get rid of. My parents still use it, but they are allowed because they named me, so they get a pass.
Shortly after meeting The Ex, I asked him not to use it. Most of my friends were still using it. Most of my professors still used it. But in a conversation in the library, I told him that if he wanted me to answer him, he wouldn’t use it. His response, “I wondered why someone with such a beautiful name would choose to use the nickname”. He never used the moniker again. Maybe that’s the moment I knew that he was going to be a tough one to shake off—not that I didn’t try.
I had a nickname. And now it’s back. It started slowly—a few old friends used it on Facebook. Since I never use it, I didn’t think anything of it. Then a few new friends on other forums spontaneously started to implement it. I thought it was odd, but figured if I kept signing everything with the name I use, they’d get the hint. But now it’s spreading… like a rash.
Grant it, when faced with the drama in the world—disease, famine, flood, struggling economies, the potential re-emergence of parachute pants—this seems like a small thing. It’s just so unexpected. I felt certain that my otherwise taciturn nature would stem the rising threat of perky.
Why is it then that I feel the need to start doing the “Bring It On” cheer?
I’m sexy, I’m cute
I’m popular to boot.
I’m bitchin’, Great Hair
The boys all love to stare
I’m wanted, I’m hot
I’m everything you’re not
I’m pretty, I’m cool
I dominate this school!
Back, back perkiness!