You know, nicknames are funny little things. Sometimes they’re descriptive. Sometimes they’re part of an inside joke. Other times they really are nonsensical. The awful thing about them, though, is that they tend to stick—and once they stick, you tend to lose your identity by any other name.

It’s no secret to some of my readers that I am affectionately (or non-affectionately, as the case may be) known as Snoopy. I’ve always been a little nosy—ok, ok—a LOT nosy and a little rascally and have an incurable curiosity. Ever since I was a wee bit little one, I’ve stuck my nose in places where it probably shouldn’t have been.

Take the time I spied my little cousin (who at the time was living with me and who, under all accounts, was and is like my older brother) discovering the use of mouthwash for the first time at the ripe old age of, oh say, five. At the time I was three, fearless and somewhat unbridled. I remember peering with one eye at my cousin standing at the bathroom sink through the slightly ajar door crack. He certainly had to have been doing something naughty in there, I thought. Well, as it turns out, he was being introduced to the concept of mouthwash. There he stood in his tight yellow shorts and Hanes tank, swirling the minty green Listerine in his mouth and immediately spitting it out with great disgust. He wasn’t pleased by its taste or its bite—to say the least. He voiced his concerns about the green poison to his mother who sat perched on the bathtub ledge. She explained to him that it killed bacteria that were in his mouth, that it made his breath smell fresher and that it was good for him. Great, I thought—what a miracle product.  Fast forward to the next day—my aunt and mother were kibitzing over the filth of my cousin’s fish tank. Neither of them wanted to clean the fishbowl that morning, though it desperately needed some maintenance. They put off the task for later but I resolved that I would be the ever-model child and clean the bowl myself. Well, had I ever concocted a plan: that minty green miracle-solution know as mouthwash should do the trick! I reasoned that since it was good for my cousin’s mouth and had these super powers, it would clean those overstuffed three year old gold fish right up, and meanwhile gain me major brownie points with my mom.  Fifteen minutes after dumping the entire contents of the mouthwash, the sacrificial fish were now floating belly-up and I sensed that I may have mis-heard or mis-observed something about that mouthwash! It may have been the first documented, or at least admitted, a case of "mis-snooping".

Ever since that spying mishap, I’ve spent a lot of time honing my detective skills and perfecting the art of this elusive concept of “snooping.” Though, it wasn’t until about five years ago that my then boyfriend (now husband) yelled “SNOOPY!” at me (in response to my interrogation of his whereabouts the previous night) that I was christened with that nickname. Unfortunately for me, now he ONLY calls me Snoopy. In fact, when he calls me by my given name, I pause and have a moment of confusion before my brain sends me signals that I should respond.

Some people, like Tiger Woods and Snooki, probably are at that point as well. In fact, I don’t even think that anyone knows their real names. In some ways, that may be a good thing—at least for them, who are in the public eye. However, in my profession, if I signed a motion or brief with “Snoopy,” it might pose a little bit of a problem—so would addressing a judge: “Good morning judge, Snoopy here for the defense.” Yeah, no.