My first nickname was given to me by my much older and very cruel creative older brother Aaron.
Apparently, because I was short* and and stubbly like a small, uh, stump, he decided that this would be my nickname. And it was for the first 23 years of my life, until his wife chewed him out for it.
My parents called me Rebecca because they seem to think Becky is a terrible name which seems awfully stupid to me, because Becky is the logical shortening of that name, but whatever. They’re hippies and hippies wear Patchouli Oil and THAT doesn’t REALLY doesn’t make sense. (also, spell check hates Rebecca but loves Becky. THIS IS NOT A COINCIDENCE, PEOPLE).
Throughout the years I’ve had other nicknames because really, who doesn’t?
Ben calls me “Mom,” my friends call me “Becks,” “Sherrick” or some variation of the two, and The Daver calls me “Baby” or “Motherfucker.” Both said with equal amounts of love, if you can believe it.
For my first blog, my nickname was Ren, although I usually used my real name because I never could believe that I was important enough that anyone would stalk me and here I absolutely use my real name.
With one addition.
One very IMPORTANT addition.
I am now Your Aunt Becky.
Okay, so I’m obviously not your aunt, because if I were, don’t you think you would have seen me around at some christening or maybe a birthday party somewhere? You’d have certainly gotten some sort of holiday card from me because I’m good like that, and you’d know that I am known for being such a bad cook that no one wants me near the kitchen.
So we’re not related.
But we are.
On the Internet, I am Your Aunt Becky because I am no one’s Aunt Becky in real life.
Admittedly, being The Internet’s Aunt is easier on my Amex because I don’t have to buy you guys frilly hats and booties and spoil you rotten because I don’t know what size you are anyway.
So there we have it.
Nice to meet you, Internet. I am Your Aunt Becky.
*for the record, I am 5 foot 5 inches. I’m hardly a stump.