That’s right, folks. It happens every day and sometimes by the people you trust the most. I just happened to be minding my own business, and happened upon my facebook newsfeed to see a recent post to my brother’s wall. Oh, and Joshie, Bud, *ahem* I mean, Joshua, in case you are wondering, I completely respect your privacy and you will never ever find me, I don’t know, stalking looking at your page for a minute or twenty making sure you haven’t gone down some crazy wayward path of drugs, sex, and rock’n'roll and forgotten to mention it to me among your frequent yet revealing text responses of “fine” or “ok” or “sucks” or “why.”
Anywho I happened upon this post, and I believe I’ve highlighted the issue fairly well. And of course, I respectfully removed the name of the young gentleman who devastated me by posting this.
“Waaaittt. Wold up a minute. My little brother gets called p-dove too??” Flabbergasted. Ericka Cooper came up with that our freshman year…and now, my identity has been stolen!!! By my own little brother. I don’t think they make a self-help book for this.
And while I don’t disclaim that my brother is pretty fly-see example below. (And no I did not find this pic while not stalking my brother’s page.)
But I like to think I was pretty fly myself, back in oh, 2010, in my parachute pants and neon hat, long before the above photo was taken (coincidentally in similar tones. weird.)
Oh Snap! What do I do? Find a new identity? Or just accept that while I am P-dove the original, there is another P-dove out there? Who would would of thunk it with a name like that.
