My Name – A Soap Box Production

Danger Header

I’ve held my tongue for years. I’ve smiled, I’ve laughed, I may have even added an anecdote from time to time, but no matter my reaction know this – it was nothing more than me being polite. Internally I’ve always rolled my eyes while counting down from ten so I wouldn’t say or do anything that could be construed as impolite. I know ultimately I can thank my parents for this predicament, but they couldn’t possibly have seen it coming, right? … Right?

The other day I met someone for the first time and as is the case when being introduced to pretty much anyone born prior to our country’s bicentennial, they did that thing. That thing that causes my right eye to twitch. That thing that causes my stomach to lurch and my head to spin. That thing  I can see coming the moment their eyes light up in recognition as they raise their arm to eagerly shake my hand. Then it comes. The I’m-confidently-so-smart-and-original-she’ll-be-too-impressed-by-me-for-words moment. Yeah, I don’t usually have words but not for those reasons. And then it lands…

“Libby?!! Like the canned goods? Have you ever heard —“

Yes. I’ve heard it. I’ve heard it a hundred times. In all likelihood, I’ve heard it hundreds upon hundreds of times. In my early years it may have endeared you to me for singling me out among the other 20 kids in class, at camp, or at tennis lessons, making me feel special for having such a “famous” name.  In my angsty teen years, it would have made me think you an idiot and dated, but then in all fairness most teens think anyone labeled “adult” is a dated idiot.

Now?  Well, now I’m 36 years old and I’ve taken to my blog to candidly call out how much I hate it. Not only does my right eye twitch when I see that ignorant twinkle in your eye, but I cringe accepting that the next 30 seconds of my life will consist of a personal hell thrust upon me for no real reason other than my moniker triggering your nostalgic 70’s feels or even worse, your ego. Please know that the commercial was BEFORE MY TIME. Please know YOU ARE NOT THE FIRST WHOLLY UNORIGINAL PERSON TO SING IT TO ME. And please know that I only know the stupid jingle because for some inexplicable rationale you people WON’T. LET. IT. DIE.

I dare you to watch it just 5 times and tell me I’m wrong. No really, I dare you. 

So I’m stepping off the box, but this is me giving you advanced narrowed side-eye if ever we meet and you feel compelled to stretch those vocal cords to relive 1970-something all over again. In the words of some Nike knockoff bought in a dark back corner of Canal Street … Just DON’T Do It. 


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