An entire lifetime has passed me by, yet no one calls me Spike. Tragic? Probably not. But still … how hard would it be?
I don’t have a nickname. I don’t have a ‘fun’ “play” name. Not even a proper shortening of my given name. Nor do I have a middle name on which i could fall back when my lack of “nick” fails me. As others dream of dancing and singing to a million adoring fans, I just wanted someone to call me Spike.
“Hi, Spike! How’s it going?”
“Hey, George. And you?”
Nothing fancy. A simple one-syllable name that tells the world under all this blooming, aging, and sagging femininity, there’s a tough gal. Maybe tough enough to be called SPIKE.
Is that too much to ask? Well, is it?