When it comes to nicknames. lesbians do it best. Whether we give them to each other or invent them for ourselves, it seems like every second queer chick goes by a name that’s not printed on her driver’s licence.
I, for instance, get called ‘Monster’ by some folks and I like it ‘cos it makes me feel badass. ‘Monique’ would better suit some petite girl with pigtails who works at a French patisserie. But Monster – Monster rides a BMX, gets sweaty in the boxing ring and has calluses on both hands. Yeaaah.
Plenty of gay girls have nicknames for this very reason – our birth names just don’t match our tomboyish ways. Phillipa becomes Pip, Sarah is Slash, Hilary is heaps more of a Hizza and Cecilia is totes C-Bomb ya c*nts.
Girl footy players totally win at this game. A friend once told me that her mates Buckets, Doingy, Helmet, Nitro, Emu and Moose all played on one team. When I commented that Doingy was my favourite nickname, she said it was given to her by her best mate Gooter. Ha-mazing.
I guess it’s no different to blokes having nicknames on the field, just a little more creative than chucking an ‘o’ or ‘a’ after the first syllable of your name. No disrespect to Thommo, Robbo, Bazza and Gazza.
Speaking of creative, another friend mentioned her mate’s called Justine Boober because she has the Bieber haircut and likes boobs. Lesbian gold.
We queers are quite fond of animal nicknames too. I used to get called Monkey, which is actually a better fit than Monster, cos I’m pretty hairy and I like to climb trees.
I know of a Rabbit, a Pony, and a lady named Wolf whose girlfriend is Bear. Hang on, maybe disgraced Liberal senator Cory Bernardi just got confused? Ah ‘Creepy Cory’ – there’s truth to all nicknames.
How funny is it though when the mate you’ve only ever known as ‘Terror’ gets called Therese by her mum. or when you call ‘Gunz’ at work and Gloria answers.
It’d be so much cooler if on our 18th birthday we got to pick our own new names, and ditch the ill-fitting ones our folks lumped us with.
Cool for the first decade maybe, but when I think of retirement villages full of Boobers and C-Bombs and Doingies and Wolves choking on their lamingtons, I’m not so sure.
INFO: You can follow Monique Schafter on Twitter @MoniqueSchafter