I've always wanted a nickname growing up. There's a sense of closeness with the people that call you by that name.

While I was in Indonesia, we spent a lot of time with the Dicuses. They have a little girl named Elizabeth that I always played with. She used to call me Chrissy. I loved it... "Chrissy, come sit next to me."

I remember I had a conversation with my dad about this a while back... I asked him why I never had a nickname growing up. He said, "You did have a nickname."

"I did?? What was it?"

"Tank"

I thought he was just joking... and took it as a joke. Until my mom mentioned this past week to our family guest that my nickname indeed was "Tank" growing up. Some pastor named me that. Thank goodness it didn't stick!

*I was walking out of the MUNI/BART station this morning, and I tripped walking up the stairs. TWICE. My shoe got caught in the cuff of my pants... I'm just extemely thankful to the people that walked by. I looked up, and they didn't embarass me by laughing, or giggling, or asking "Are you ok?" They just kept a straight face and kept walking. *