What’s in A...

By Tifani Milewski

When I was younger I hated my name. It’s a name with such…I don’t know such…implications.

I do not look like a Tifani.

A Tiffani.
A Tifany.
A Tiffany.
You have to know what I mean right? It’s a name so sugary sweet it practically curls upon the page: Tifani, Tiffani. Tifany Tiffany.

It’s cotton candy. Its marshmallow fluff. It’s the name of a doll, a princess.

A stripper.

No offense to all you other “Tiffany’s”. Let’s use the “original” spelling here (or the only one that came up right on spell check) who have tried to work past the name. To be something more then sparkles and fluff with just a dash of rainbows.

I could never complain to my Mother (Just my mother. According to my father he wanted to name me either Helena or Shannon….Do I look like a Helena?) Apparently she’d loved the name had it picked out since she was six years old (cue the AWWWWWWW, right?) and she could not be fazed could never see my horror at being given such a sweet name.

Maybe if I had ended up a super model, trophy wife, or ballerina…but what world famous authors/doctor’s/actresses (I’ve wanted to be many thing’s in life) are named Tiffany? Huh? Name one and for those of you who have seen Saved by the Bell don’t you dare bring up Ms. Theissen. She doesn’t count.

Point made. Right?
I was too smart to be a “Tiffany”.
Too independent.
Too dignified.
(And again this is just me being a little full of myself. No offense to all you other Tiffany’s.)

And my mother could never see that (will never see that) because she has to LOVE the name so much, since she was six years old.

“Tiffany’s” is the name of a jewelry store in an Audrey Hepburn movie.
“Tiffany” is not…I am NOT a Tiffany!!!!!

You see my point right?

Right?

Shut up! I am not making a big deal out of this. You try walking around with a name that could induce cavities and pretty much predestines a love of the color pink (and I don’t hate pink…I tried for so long!) and then you have earned the right to complain to me.

Okay???!!!

Okay.


Well….

Yeah….
So anyway you’ve probably noticed that I’m saying this all in the past tense right?

Meaning I’m over my past….issues…with what my mother choose to call me out of the BILLIONS of other….anyway I’m over it, I’m over it, it’s not so bad and she meant well giving me a tiny piece of individuality among all the strippers and cheerleaders (Again no offense…don’t hate me!). Out of the fifteen or so other “Tiffany’s” I’ve met in my lifetime I’m the only one with one “F” and one “I” so that’s something. Right? Right.

And I like many others am working on reclaiming the name, making it my own, adding a little less sugar, and a little more buy my books and worship me.

Oh yes one day I will rule the world.

And there you have it.

And all this…this “mess”.

Is nothing compared to my middle name.

D-A-N-Y-E-L-L.

Mother! That is not how you spell Danielle!