Make It Stop is a new weekly column in which Anna Goldfarb — the blogger behind Shmitten Kitten and Shlooby Kitten — tells you what’s up. Want a fresh take on a stinky dilemma? Email email@example.com with the subject “Make It Stop.” She’ll make it all better, or at least make you laugh. Girl Scout’s honor.
First up, how to deal with an overly-friendly neighbor who just won’t shut up: Keep reading »
It started innocently enough at the mailbox.
I reached in and pulled out the usual bills, Victoria’s Secret catalogs, and fliers for the local pizza joint. Because it was the holiday season, there was also an envelope befitting a Christmas card. “Oh! [Redacted family member] sent us a card!” I said to my husband as we made our way into the house.
Then I looked at who the card was addressed to: the Bogadnovs’.
Bogdanovs is my husband’s last name. My last name is Wakeman. We were addressed both by his last name. Keep reading »
I got married on Friday. It is still all so very new that the wedding band on my finger distracts me every five seconds. It feels weird — a blissfully happy weird — to hear the words “my husband” come out of my own mouth.
But it’s never too early, apparently, for people to just go ahead and assume that I took my husband’s last name. Keep reading »
Over the summer, “Bridesmaids” actor Chris O’Dowd married British writer/TV host Dawn Porter, who was also not keen on changing her professional name. She has a piece in UK Glamour about wanting to take on her husband’s name in the spirit of blending families, but at the same time not wanting to lose the last name that’s always been hers. So, she compromised on “O’Porter.” Keep reading »
“So, should I be calling you something different now?”
The bartender at my local bar walked hurriedly over to my table last week as I sat with my 5 p.m. Hefeweizen, wrapping up the day’s work on my laptop. He looked genuinely worried that, when I’d walked into the bar, he’d somehow offended me by calling me what most of my favorite bartenders over the years have ended up calling me, which is: “Mizz Grimes!”
I don’t know why they’ve all tended to pick up “Mizz Grimes,” but they have, and I love it. It makes me feel fancy and Southern, and there’s something about the way Texas bartenders say “Graiihhhhmmmz” as they’re grabbing a Lone Star or a High Life out of the cooler that just sounds right.
It was the first time someone who didn’t know me well, but who did know that I’d gotten married last month, had asked me about changing my name. Keep reading »