My name is Tina.

(In which I learn that other beings may also be called Tina.)

I am at a work retreat with colleagues. Arrival time.

I bump into an adult and a child at the reception and introduce myself: “Hi, you look like you might be joining the event! My name is Tina!”

They respond in friendly ways, but I notice something moving on their faces. As we part and I go up the stairs, I hear them both talking about me: “… Tina… Tina…“ with a tone of amusement.
I feel ashamed and irritated and slightly scared of what might lie ahead during the week: Children questioning my gender? Women arguing with me about my first name?

I meet them in the workshop room. The connection is easy and open-hearted. Sophie shares with me that “Tina” is the name of their family’s recently deceased, large, beloved, very hairy dog.