My name is Nicole. Spelled N-I-C-O-L-E. Not N-I-C-H-O-L-E. I’ve established this.
Furthermore, it is not Michelle or Nikki.
Of all of the people in my life, I can only think of four people that I have ever allowed to call me Nikki. My father has called me that, and because he’s my Daddy, he has every right. My aunt and grandmother both called me Nikki, and because my grandmother was so wonderful, I loved it that she had a special name for me. Amy Jo always called me Nicky D. I have no idea why, but it never bothered me.
If you are not one of the above people, please remember that my name is Nicole!
People call me Michelle all the time. In fact, someone did it at the store last night. I smiled and said hello, but inwardly I cringed. Just because some one’s name has mostly the same letters as another name does not mean they are the same. Am I right, Jana?
Why does this bother me? I’ll tell you what I told Stan. “You know how some people’s names just “fit” them? That’s how I feel about Nicole. I’ve never felt like a Nikki. People have called me that, and people have asked permission to call me that, and I’ve told some of them that it is okay; but it has just never felt natural to me.“
It isn’t my name, that’s why. And that should be enough.
It is pretty comical to watch someone when they realize that they’ve been calling me either Michelle or Nikki, and that it isn’t my name/I don’t prefer to be called that.
They get all embarrassed and apologize.
It is also funny because I think that everyone has problems with people getting their names right. Stan told me once that he used to sometimes say, “This is, uh, Stan,” to keep people from thinking he was saying, “This is Dan.”
So, just so we’re clear . . . it’s Nicole. Yep, that’s my name.