…wonder no longer.
Apparently my father loved the name Kristy Kay, so that’s what my parents named me. And for a long time, I hated it. Hated my middle name. Hated the way they spelled my first name. In fact, I spent most of ninth writing ‘Christie’ in the top right corner of all of my assignments. Pretty sure all the teachers thought I was nuts.
Eventually, I came to love my name. Since K-r-i-s-t-y was not a common spelling, I decided it was unique, and I could live with it. Well, except for The Worst Birthday EVER. Aside from that though, I was cool with my name.
I got to the place where I didn’t mind the fact that my sister and her family still call me Krispy – to this day. I’m a grownup. I see the humor there. Now. And I also found it very funny when this same sister told me about a new toy her son has. She took a picture and sent it to me.