But a lot of people call me Bruni. It's natural sounding. I'm good with that. Here's the thing: I'm the only Bruni I know in the Elmhurst area. Whenever someone calls out "Hey Bruni!" They're usually talking to me.
A few years back I went out to visit my Vegas family. Dad, my stepmom and my brother. My sister wasn't there at the time. I think she was out of state. Regardless, my dad and my brother took me out into the desert to shoot guns. I meant to do an Everyone's Got One column about the experience because it's pretty strange. I'm not a big fan of guns, and having fired a bunch of them, I can continue to say that. I know for a fact that I should not own one, and--that's a story for another day. I'm OK with responsible gun ownership, and that describes my dad and brother's attitude.
The point is, a bunch of my brother's friends showed up, and while I was talking with my dad, I heard someone shout, "Hey Bruni!"
I thought, naturally, given my experience, that they were talking to me. I turned with a smile on my face, waiting to greet whoever it was. Turns out, they weren't talking to me. They were talking to my brother. I think my face burned slightly with embarrassment. Do you know how rarely I feel embarrassed? Even though I probably should feel it more often? It's the same with shame, but we've discussed that before.
No one noticed, so I turned back to Dad and saw, whoops, he noticed. He had an amused grin on his face. "Yeah, I know. It still gets me, too."
I'm sure if my name was Kopoulos, like my mom's maiden name, that wouldn't have happened. But I think about that day often and get weirded out by it.
