Kit Kat and Precious, the value of nicknames

Today one of the things keeping me more grounded than I was yesterday or the day before are nicknames friends have for me. I’ve spent a lot of my life being called Kate, KB, Burnsy, Katie, Scoops and Moose. (Heads up, the only ones allowed to call me Katie are my grandparents, aunts, and uncles; only one allowed to call me Scoops my mom, Moose my dad). But many of my closest friends from college call me Ralphie (they tell me that was a really good party), but now I have a new friend, a new confidant, who calls me Kit Kat. This is a woman I work with and who mocks me rather frequently about my predisposal to eat Kit Kats…a lot. So she calls me Kit Kat. And it makes me smile. Every damn time.

It makes me smile not just because she calls me Kit Kat and that’s funny, but because it’s yet another way I end up feeling connected. Another way I feel like I am not just here, but Here. A way that I feel not just loved, but LOVED. You don’t nickname people you don’t care about. Or, rather, you don’t tell people you’ve nicknamed their nicknames if you don’t care about them.

So every time this person texts or IMs me saying, “What’s up, Kit Kat?” I smile. Because it’s one more person saying they care for me. There are days that’s more important than others, but it’s never not important.

So, thank you, Precious. Thank you for ensuring my day to day connection. Your IMs, your nickname, help when I feel I’m about to spiral into outer space.

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