For months now, I’ve been emailing back and forth with a dude, trying to decide whether I might want to meet him. We’re a high match (whatever that’s worth), he’s cute, and he’s extraordinarily persistent. But something about him pisses me off. I can’t lay my finger on it (hence continuing to speak with him at all–I feel sort of unreasonable), but I find myself annoyed after almost every exchange. Today, he sealed his fate though. He called me Lizzy.
I have nothing against the name Lizzy as a derivative of Elizabeth, just as I have nothing against the names Beth, or Betty, or Eliza, etc. etc. and so on (there are a ludicrous number of Elizabeth derivatives).
But that is not my fucking name.
I do not find it endearing. You will not be the one person I let get away with it because, gosh, you’re so cheeky and special.
Even the few people in my life who do it to tease me, knowing I will scowl at them, are dear, close friends. Presuming to call me a diminutive nickname before we’ve even met seems excessively intimate. (Clearly, I watch a lot of Downton Abbey and favor the Dowager Countess.) My own mother can’t get away with it.
It’s not that I have anything against nicknames in general. I have my own, and I certainly employ them in speaking to others. But they are from or for people I know well, with whom I have some shared history.
Was I looking for a reason to put this business to bed? Probably. But calling me Lizzy was definitely the last straw. It’s not like I’d chuck a friend I already knew and liked for calling me Lizzy (at least, not consistently) but man, if there is any question about whether I like a person or not, “Lizzy” casts a weighted vote against them.
Are there nicknames you can’t stand? How well do you tolerate them?