How do I feel about being a Mrs.? I must say I don’t give it much thought but reading this article: Ms. vs. Miss vs. Mrs.: Are Women’s Marital Status Titles Obsolete? had me musing on the topic for 2.5 seconds. I suppose the reason I’ve never considered the Ms. vs. Mrs. conundrum is that I didn’t legally change my name when I married—in one part because changing your name in the province of Quebec, where I tied the knot, is a royal bureaucratic pain in the ass. That’s the lazy reason. But I suppose if I think long and hard I also had a certain reticence to up and switch my identity. I also just figured: I’m a writer; I can have two last names and use them willy nilly! Why the eff not? So that’s what I do. But when I do use hubby’s name (which is Vroom BTW) for kicks I do defer to the traditional Mrs.
So, incidentally, do my British father and grandmother who have adamantly addressed letters to me as Mrs. Vroom since the day I walked down the isle. I get it—I’m married off, not very subtle, guys.
But come to think of it, I suppose my fluid take on the whole name thing is pretty well aligned with my shopping cart version of fourth-wave feminism—selecting what I care for and leaving the rest on the shelves. Perhaps, like with all issues of apathy, if the title slash name change question had a more direct impact on me, I’d take a firmer stance. Like, if I was fifty and still being called Miss. Southwood. Or if Mr. Vroom was insisting on a new passport.
So for the time being, I’ll continue to be Mrs. Vroom on Saturdays and every other Tuesday. And who knows, maybe for shits and giggles, I’ll even start throwing around Ms. But what I’m really holding out for is Dame. How cool is Dame Helen Mirren in her nude New York Magazine tub pose?