My name is not Baby. I have not
been an infant for about 17 years, and my preschool days happened long ago. I
am not an immobile, helpless being incapable of taking care of myself, dependent
on others to ensure that my basic needs are met. I am, if not a grown woman,
getting to be a young adult. Certainly not a baby.
My name is not Shorty. Yes, I am a
mere 4”11, and I have always been happy to be a short person. However, my
height or the pride I take in it does not determine what nickname I go by. Even
if it did, you are a stranger, and have no right to be so familiar with me.
My name is not Bitch. The last
time I checked, I was human, not canine. And while I may exhibit aggressive behavior
upon occasion, I don’t think I can be categorized as “a malicious, spiteful, or
overbearing woman” (as defined by Merriam Webster).
My name is not Smile For Me. Why
should I smile for you? What right do you have over my expression of my own
emotions? If I’m having a really crappy day, why should I smile to make you feel
satisfied? Even if I’m having the best day of my life, I’m not going to smile
simply because you want me to. My lips, my teeth, my feelings. My decision to
do what I want with them.
My name is not Sexy. I am
flattered that my physical appearance appeals to you, but please, find a
non-threatening way to express your interest, if you must articulate it at all.
My name is Talia. It’s a name
that means a lot to me, since I’m named after my grandfather. He passed away
about seven years before my birth, and it was really important to my mother to memorialize
her cherished father through her child. Since his name was Naftali, she
feminized it into Talia. That is my name, and I invite you to call me by it.
My name is not Baby or Shorty or Bitch
or Smile For Me or Sexy. And for the record, neither is any other woman’s.
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