I had a birthday last week. I turned ...
... a year older! HAHAHAHAHAHA!
Just kidding. I turned forty-one.
I don't mind being forty-one. I don't actually mind getting older because the alternative is to no longer shuffle along this particular plane of the mortal coil, and I like it here quite a lot. Plus, there were a few times in my life when I thought I might not make it this far, but here I am. Still plugging along.
It's all good, is what I'm saying. Well, it's almost all good.
Here's the bit that is stressing me out more than it should be: my name.
You might be wondering, well, what's wrong with your name? The answer, of course, is NOTHING. There is nothing wrong with my name. I have a great name.
It's just that very few people use it. These days, I mostly get called Yellie by, um, everyone. I don't think there's anything wrong with this, because I actually refer to myself as Yellie most of the time. I am very rarely Danielle, even to myself.
As I continue to look for employment (HELLO PLEASE HIRE ME), I have been writing my name -- my actual name, obvs -- on applications. It looks nice there (IT WOULD LOOK NICER ON AN OFFICE DOOR THOUGH PLEASE HIRE ME), and it's a solid name, a dignified one.
"Yellie" is, perhaps, not so dignified. It is, maybe, juvenile and silly.
This is what is stressing me out. Am I too old to still be a Yellie?
Help! Opinions are needed!