*Sings* "you ought to be congratulated!"
Moving on. So, as I was saying I went out. To a gig. Of a good friend. It was fun. The end.
Haha. No, no really. Wait, no, it was fun, really! But there were no fireworks. Nothing exciting or out of the ordinary happened, which would have been nice. Okay...why am I even talking (writing) about this? I heard a song today which went somewhere along the lines of: "I could never see myself with a boyfriend..." or something like that (please feel free to stop reading at any time), and I could completely relate. It's just a weird concept for me. It doesn't help either that people in my world are getting engaged left right and centre. Not that I want to be married or getting married. Hell to the no. Gosh, I've got things to do. Nonetheless, a man friend would be lovely right about now. Just someone to hold my hand. And perhaps whisper sweet nothings in my ear. Actually, that would be weird. But the holding hand thing would be nice.
This morning at my humble abode of work, I noticed how grumpy people were. Maybe because for the first time in a hell bent long time, I wasn't in that titanium boat that carries 98% of the population of a Monday. Sure, I was tired, but I found myself politely showing the 'imperial' brand of mandarin sticker to *INTERRUPTION*
Mum just called me a loser. Now I really don't have a hope in hell.
Continuing.
Yes, so I found myself politely showing the 'imperial' brand of mandarin sticker to this woman who impertinently insisted that "IT WASN'T THAT BRAND" (and she might as well have added, 'you imbecilic check-out chick'), and upon simply showing her the sticker I docilely said, "yes it is," (upon which I didn't even feel like adding 'you stupid douche'). Good Monday.
Something lovely did happen amongst all these grouches however. An older man (grandpa vintage most likely), was kind enough to comment on my name and how lovely it was. He even used the word 'lovely.' Even lovelier. The more astonishing thing is that I relished this comment. This is highly unusual. You see, I used to push my name to strangers as being just 'Tess.' Whenever somebody called me Tessa, I would blush a deep purple crimson inside, feeling thoroughly and utterly embarrassed. I don't know why but I associated this identification with being tubby and clumsy. As 'Tess,' I felt light and airy, cool, calm, collected, single syllabled and ready to go roaring off in a pearly white mustang, my floral head scarf flapping in the wind, my over-sized sunglasses emanating a a bombshell vibe. 'Tessa' was the girl who ate her hair in the back of the classroom.
Not any more.
I love that he commented on my name. I love that I loved him commenting. Because now I love my name.
I love it because I was named after my Nonna, Teresa, who was my 'amore grande,' a great love who enriched my life in an indescribable manner. I love it because it's rare, not a name you come across often. I love it because I feel genuinely happy to be me, under the banner of that name. And most of all I love it because it's a name that, underneath its label has persevered and overcome great obstacles to be all that that name is.
That's what I call a good Monday.
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