Ben and I attended our first wedding since getting hitched ourselves. It was really, really nice - one of those weddings where, as I’m taking my third coconut shrimp from a gloved waiter with one hand and sipping from my ice cold vodka tonic with the other hand, I can’t help but think of African children squatting with flies on their lips. But then the guy with the mini quiches comes around and the image leaves me.
At the wedding, I had to confront one new difference in my life: that I will be, for the rest of my days or at least until the impending divorce, politely correcting people about what my name is. Since it’s never bothered me, I didn’t realize that it’s kind of a touchy point with some people, especially women who have changed their own name. And perhaps especially with women who have changed their names on that very day. I think the only thing that actually gets under my skin is when people say, “Mrs. Ben Fowlkes,” as if I have completely disappeared altogether.
I admit, I learned a lot about how not to let someone know you’re not Mrs. [husband’s full name]. For one, don’t say that you’ve kept your name because you are a writer and couldn’t change your last name due to your career - that’s kind of like saying that the other person’s identity/career didn’t really matter enough for them to keep their name. Secondly, stay away from the phrase, “I kept my name” - it sounds like you’re implying that the other person threw theirs away like a dirty tissue. Thirdly, don’t imply that you are a liberated, independent feminist, while the person who changed their name is living in the archaic past, where they might as well be wearing whalebone corsets and taking her husband’s muddy boots off when he comes home from work. I would especially stay away from the phrase, “Honestly, I think it’s a pretty retarded tradition that when a couple gets married they both take the name of the one with the penis. Seriously - go ask your husband if he’d ever change his name out of love for you. He’ll get a good laugh out of it.”
After talking with some friends, it seems like the best thing to say is, simply, “My name is still Sarah Aswell,” and to ignore all the stuff that they may or not be implying with their own comment - that I don’t respect tradition or that I’m obviously not ready for marriage or that I’m selfish or that I obviously don’t love Ben enough.
Ben thinks that whenever anyone asks me about it, I should simply explain that I married for nothing except the green card. This is why I love Ben. He doesn’t care what my last name is, as long as I continue to alienate strangers as a hobby.
In the end, I’d like to make it clear to everyone that I don’t really care whether you personally change your name at all - even if I have trouble telling you in person. It sure does seem simpler and it probably saves people a lot of time when addressing Christmas card envelopes. All I want is for people not to care what I do, either. Wouldn’t it be nice if we could just stand drinking silently in groups and wait for the waiter with the scallops wrapped in bacon to come around again?
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