My neighbour called me the wrong name and I like it

My name is Paul, but this morning a neighbour called me Peter. I drove to work smiling, imagining myself as a Peter. Is it weird that I liked being called by the wrong name?
P.N., Bell Park, Vic

Credit: Simon Letch

Being the exact same person for decades and decades can get a bit boring. We’re stuck with the same name, the same personality, the same annoying habit of saying, “Soooooooo ... there you go” when we want to get out of a conversation and don’t know how. That’s why it might be fun pretending to be someone else, to flip things around.

Try a new name, assume a different personality, get out of conversations with the bold and fresh, “Soooooo ... there you have it.”

There’s nothing weird about imagining yourself to be a Peter. It’s perfectly healthy, and it might even be an improvement; as fascinating a fellow as Paul may be, you might find Peter is way more impressive.

He might have the biblical gravitas of Saint Peter, the cheeky mischievousness of Peter Rabbit and the international passport to smoking pleasure of Peter Stuyvesant. Just make sure you don’t let it get out of control. A new neighbour once called me David and I stupidly didn’t correct him. And he must’ve mentioned it to other neighbours because everyone on the street started calling me David, including the nice lady next door who said, “Sorry, David, I don’t know why I’ve been calling you Danny all this time. Silly name. Doesn’t even suit you.”

Even my wife got into it: “Oh David, you’re a much better lover than my husband, Danny. He’s so selfish and lazy and mechanical. Did I mention selfish?”

It was fun being David for a while, but he turned out to be a little too popular for my liking. Didn’t end well: I had to kill the guy off.

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