Dear Universe,

How hard is it to spell my name? I mean really! Especially when you have it written down in front of you!

Annoyed,
Prescila Pricella Purcella Brasille ah, never mind.

It's ridiculous. A friend's mom still thinks my name is "Sally." And even weirder, I've read two books in the past week with minor characters named "Priscilla," when I rarely ever encounter the name outside the context of Me. The second was in A Canticle or Leibowitz, a book we had to read for my Sci-Fi class. Priscilla is a yappy, six-legged dog owned by a two-headed woman. The first was White Night, which includes a bitter, frumpish, middling-magical-talent hag of a minor character that wears turtlenecks in the Summer, named Priscilla. How Jim Butcher was able to write an entire book properly spelling her name, but suddenly lost the ability to spell it when personalizing my copy, defies all logic. I spent the entire book wondering if there was some joke about weird spellings of stuff. Of course, to be fair he was trying to spell "Priscellie," which can be a bit more confusing. Oh well.

My name is great, but also freakish and confusing! Woohoo!

Labels: dresden files, me, open letters