Hey! My name is Ronda. Your eyes aren’t playing tricks on you it’s Ronda, no H. I have been correcting people on the spelling of my name for over 3 decades. I have had a love/hate relationship with it over the years but I can honestly say I am finally at peace. I like being Ronda. It’s different without being freakishly different, kinda like me! Plus, my name has meaning behind it. I was named after my father, Ron. Of course I’m Ronda? It makes sense, right?. What’s up with the “H” anyway? Who was the moron that thought “Rhonda” would be better with the “H”? I don’t have anything against the letter “H” except that I hate it in my name. Hey…attention all you R-Honda’s out there! Get rid of the H and what do have? Yeah..that’s right…you still have Ronda, except it looks way cooler!
As a child, I wanted to fit in with the other girls. The Jennifer’s and Allison’s had personalized key chains, notebooks and pencils. I had nothing. Occasionally, I would find something with “Rhonda” but never “Ronda”. It seemed to be a big deal back in 1984 but it doesn’t really matter too much in 2012. I was tired of looking around for something with my name on it so I created my own thing. Check it out.
Actually, it seems that every decade of my life involved some sort of name drama. As a child it was the hunt for the personalized key chain. As a teenager, I had to listen to adults sing horrible renditions of “Help me, Rhonda!“.
Ah yes! Help me Rhonda! That song has followed me around like a fruit fly. My true hatred for that damn song became apparent as a nurse. Every patient thought they were hilarious talking into the call button.[Beep] “I need some pain meds. Can you help me, Ronda? Help me Ronda…help..help..me Ronda?” I’d always respond the same way “Ha Ha! Nice voice Mr. Smith! I’ll be right there.” Then I’d walk down the hall swearing under my breath at the Beach Boys for writing such a stupid ass song!
Anyway, now I’m married and I have bigger problems. Almost everyone I meet can agree on one thing, I don’t look like a Ronda. I don’t understand. I’ve always looked this way but for some reason they can’t get past it. There are 2 images that America associates with the name “Rhonda”. Neither of them look like me. This makes for an uncomfortable introduction.
Below is the typical conversation when I meet a guy, any guy!!!!
Me: “Hey I’m Ronda. nice to meet you.”
The guy: “Rhonda? You don’t look the way I thought you would look.” [oh boy! Here we go!]
Me: “Yeah? I get that a lot.” [awkward pause. Then I ask. I have to ask. How can I let that comment go? So I do…but very suave-like ] “So… what did you think I would look like?”
The guy: “I don’t know…you just look different.” [Obviously he doesn’t realize that I love honesty. He is probably still trying to be polite since we met 4 seconds ago. Mmm? I probe further.]
Me: [I guess the usual.] “I bet you thought I would be a blonde?”
The guy: “Yes!!!!!” [He looks at me wide-eyed. He is impressed that I can read his mind.] “How did you know that?”
Me: [unfazed] “because I’ve been Ronda my whole life. [Insert another pause here as I contemplate saying it. I really shouldn’t say it, but I have to. I know he is thinking it. I can’t stand it any longer and I just blurt it out…] “…And, I bet you thought I would have really big knockers, right?”
The guy: [laughing] “Whoooaaa?…that is sooo weird. How did you know I was thinking that?”
Me: “I’m psychic.”
The guy: [suddenly very serious and not laughing at all now ] “What?”
me: “I’m kidding!” [Awkward pause as they wonder why I claimed to be a psychic? They are left wondering. I don’t know why I make shit up like that but the abrupt flow in conversation is incredibly entertaining. I move on.] “Nevermind. Well? This is me. I’m a flat chested brunette. So sorry to disappoint?” [Disappointed isn’t really the right emotion here but it makes them uncomfortable, which makes me giggle.]
Can I just say that I live for these type of moments? My gosh I love to watch people squirm…it’s so fun! When a married woman says the word “knockers”, the men don’t know where to look or what to do. They do one of two things. They either look at me or they run. If they look at me, they are screwed. I will pretend I am offended by their big boob assumption and accuse them of staring at my A cups! [even if they are looking at my ear or my hand]. Sadly this is entertainment for me. If they are confused on how to react they dart (the smarter option for them). They actually run in the opposite direction? I realize that this leaves me standing alone looking like I have gas but it still makes me laugh. There is something very satisfying about making someone feel incredibly awkward about a completely innocent question. I have a sick sense of humor, I know.
If I’m being completely honest, I can’t forget the other group of men. Ya know..the ones that don’t think I am a big chested blonde. These are the fellas who assume I’m leopard-skin Rhonda from the movie Road Trip. This is also a very different look for me.
Look, my name has a long history. The spelling and the face behind the name always seem to create a great deal of controversy. I’m Ronda and I have grown to love it. I don’t have blonde hair or wear a leopard skin thong, I look like this
It’s funny how your actual name effects your everyday life. I know I’m not the only one on earth with name drama. How about Shawn and Sean? Tell the truth Carrie, Kerry and Kerri. I know some of you must have a “fruit fly song” that has followed you around for years. What’s your story? I’m Ronda, not Rhonda. I’m actually a brunette and kinda plain Jane-ish. It’s nice to meet ya!
Don’t forget to give Momma some “Sugah” and vote! I’m in a contest and the top 25 authors get all kinds of lovin! Contest ends December 7th! Tis the season people! It’s free and takes 2 seconds. Giddy up!