Just Call Me Marjorie Goats

I have been called a lot of things in my life. With a name like “Marijke” it isn’t hard to see why.  A silent J? Who comes up with this stuff? Here are just a smattering few, phonetically spelled for [ahem] clarity:

Veronica

Mareeka

Mary Kaye

Maridgekee

Mary Jika

Jikes

Rika

Marjorie

Mejracky

Marishnakoff – My little albino billy goat

Marika-lecka-hi-mecka-hiney-ho

Marijuana (actually pronounced Mari-ju-wanna)

GROAT!! (that one went around high school like wildfire)

And, you know? I’m used to it. I’m comfortable with it. I like being the only me I know.

At one point around the age of 9 or 10 I thought I wanted to go by the name “Marie,” which now seems incredibly boring. (Sorry to any of you Maries out there, I’m sure it’s a wonderful name..  It’s just not mine.)

Also, if you google my full name you can find a MAP to my DESK at my OFFICE where I WORK. So I’m very stalkable.

Anyway, it occurred to me the other day that you may be reading this blog and have absolutely no idea how to say my name. Which, really, is entirely understandable. So let me introduce myself.

My name is Marijke. I tell people that it’s “Maraca” with an “I.” Or “Mariah” with a “K.”

Confused? I hope not.

You can also call me MJ.

It’s nice to meet you.

3 thoughts on “Just Call Me Marjorie Goats

  1. The best part about you being called Marjorie Goats… it wasn’t even a mispronunciation. It was written on a receipt! Gah! Best. Misspelling. EVER! It still cracks me up.

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