Say my name, say my name

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I am now a Mrs. It’s weird. It’s what grown ups do. Older people. Oh yes, that’s right. I am a grown up. And in my “late thirties” as my  husband gleefully informs me. “IT’S STILL MY MID-THIRTIES” *shuffles for divorce papers*…..Husband. That’s another strange one. Whenever I say “my husband” I giggle a little bit. Like a child being asked by angry parent what swear word they’ve just used. Then there’s the name change. Do I change my name? What about one of those double-barrelled jobs? Could make me sound like a solicitor’s firm. Or a British bake off judge or X Factor host. Which is cool. For a second. But it would take a lot longer to write. So I’ll keep my maiden name for work thank you very much, and use my married name for everything else.

Simple enough, right? 1. Get hitched. 2. Phone the bank. The first part happened. The second part is proving more complicated, thanks to the intervention of my friend, bureaucracy. Bureaucracy. Bloody bureaucracy. I need to change my passport. So I can change my bank details, driving licence and everything else in between. I changed my Facebook details to my married name, as it was easy compared to the red tape slapped around everything else. However, I’m still tweeting using my maiden name. Which is confusing people. Gives the term “I don’t know who I am any more” a whole new meaning. It’s also put me in a schizophrenic-like state of identity, exacerbated by the many online outlets I suddenly realise I’ve signed up to. I wonder if Cheryl Fernandez-Versini had these problems. Perhaps I should just incorporate all the names I’ve ever had, including nicknames That could be fun. Or really shake things up and have my surname as my first name. Followed by my maiden name,  then my married name. It was certainly the preferred option of our honeymoon hotel in their welcome note….I like it.

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