My name is Kim. To a handful of people (my late uncle, one high school friend, and one brother-in-law) I’m Kimbo. I am seldom Kimmie, except to my penpal and long-time (and long-distance) friend who shares my name and shotgunned the Kimbo variation.

I am not good at nicknames.

When I get introduced to someone by their nickname, I generally call them nothing until I know what their real name is.

Nothing. As in.. I don’t call them. I just start talking aimed in their direction when I need to ask them something in the hope that they realise I’m talking to them. Its awkward. But I really don’t do nicknames.

Nicknames are personal. Don’t be calling me Kimmie unless you have known me a really long time. Really long. Long enough to know that if  you call me Kimmie, I may slap you. I have to like you a lot for you to call me Kimmie. Actually… just don’t.

I have to know someone a while before I abbreviate their name, add a ‘y’ on the end, or change it completely. To you know… Douche. Or… Winky. (This shit is not made up. Both of these are friends of friends and I can’t, of course, call them these names. Unfortunately, I also don’t know what their real names are as everyone keeps calling them Douche and Winky. It gets really awkward at big gatherings when I just start talking. Or after some wine).

The same can be said for pet names. Babe, sweetie, hun, love. You may think these are words that roll off my feminine (that’s a lie, I swear more than most pirates. Pirates? I meant Sailors. Fuck.) tongue, they don’t. You need to be top-shelf to take on any of these names. And by top-shelf, I mean I have to basically love you. Or I have to have had a lot of white wine.

I don’t ever bae (what even is that?). Or bru. Or bruv. Except to one person. And mostly I call him his surname.

Aah, the surname thing. I do do that a lot. Hawkins (my husband), Bales (who is also Bruv) and Taylor (who goes by Fush to his other friends. Really… Fush. He is friends with Douche and Winky above. It must be a Hilton College thing).

**this blog post was inspired by the Naming of Cats by TS Eliot, but which ofcourse has nothing to do with cats. Or naming conventions.


2 thoughts on “Nicknames

  1. I don’t mind variations of my own name, like Cinds or my inlaws call me Cinders, but DO NOT be talking to me with babe, sweets, love – back away before I punch you in the face!

    • I don’t mind if those I love call me those petnames. But you have to really love me. And mostly, I need to love you back. Otherwise, I’m not your babe. 😉

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