“No, wait!  You’re kidding!”  I said to a friend on the phone.

After the call, I told my friend I was changing my name to Kat. “Do not call me Kathy.”

 A few days ago, I was still Kathy, writing my blog, going to Zoom meetings, rereading a Russian novel, and taking walks.

And then I got the call.

“Remember Kathy in X City?” my friend said.

“Who?” 

“You know, the mousy one who tried to sabotage the conference you organized?”

I started giggling.  “Well, my friends gave her the cold shoulder.”

“Guess what?” 

It seemed that a friend of mine was spending a lot of free time with her. 

“Oh, no, no, no, no.”  This was WAY too perverse.  Did he have a thing for older women named Kathy (though I will always think of her as Kitty)?  What the fuck… 

Anyway, it was an eye-opener.  I can’t think of the word – he was not exactly a philanderer, but still it was a kind of going behind my back.  And here’s the truth: she was a phony, she was full of muted rage (she once sent me newspaper photo of an editor she disliked, with an inky moustache and beard scribbled on her face), no women liked her (and this is the first evidence I’ve heard that men liked her), and, believe me, she is not even pretty!

Anyway, I no longer answer to the name Kathy. EVERYBODY calls me Kat now!