I don’t feel that strongly about this, but then you know we like to focus on the little things here at Would Jess Like It Pty Ltd, the niggly things that just sort of fester on the edge of your brain when its time to go to sleep, that chomp quietly at the innermost relaxation-centres of your cerebral cortex when you’re trying to have nice quiet dreams about Zac Efron or jonquils. And all I’ll say is that when I have handed a new acquaintance or colleague the scented bouquet of friendliness that is “call me Jess”, I expect them to call me by my pleasant nickname from that point forward. And every time they persist in calling me Jessica I will see it as a personal slight, as their way of saying “I don’t care what you want to be called, because I want to call you THIS, and you know what, bitch, from now on I’ll just call you whatever I like, even if it sounds nothing like Jess, in fact, let’s just assume your new name is Sourdough or Canada from now on, because that’s what I feel like.”

Call me Bubbles, darling. Or I'll knife you.

And you know what? You know how revenge makes everything a bit better? Well, the best thing abut this situation (because every crap-lined mucus-bucket can be turned into a silk purse) is that these people, the ones who persist in calling you by your full name, usually HATE being called by their nickname. They hate it. And so for every time that they call you Jessica (or your version of your full name, I guess), you can call them “Jo” or “Joey” or “Babes” and just watch them eat away their stomach with hate-acid.