Here's what I wrote; it inspired quite a bit of laughter from the class:
Princess. My name, Sarah, means "princess." Do I look like a princess? Even when I was a kid, this name didn't suit me. I wasn't girly at all; I wore primarily overalls, turtlenecks and those yellow CAT construction boots that my parents found at K-Mart. If asked to wear a dress, I'd throw a fit. I hated them. The only time my parents could force me into something other than pants was for special occasions, like Christmas or someone else's birthday. I would never wear a dress for my own birthday, though; that was my day and I'd wear what I wanted. I also never wore jewelry, and I still don't. I certainly never owned a costume tiara, either. And the closest I ever got to being a princess was the board game, "Pretty Pretty Princess," which I played with the bratty girl down the street. But, of course, I always lost. Rather, I was cursed with the opaque black ring that marked me as such.
Ever since I found out the meaning of my name in 8th grade, I have despised it. It all happened when ever confirmation class graduate received a plaque that listed our names, the meaning of our names, and then some ridiculous bible scripture that was supposed to go along with it. Actually, that's when everyone found out. Everyone in the group excitedly went around and shared what their name meant with everyone else. I tried to hide my plaque, but 8th graders are vicious and there was no avoiding it. When my friend Emily finally wrestled it away from me and read it, her mouth fell open and her eyes got wide. Who would've guessed that Sarah Stallard, the girl who has worn black t-shirts and jeans every day, could have a name that meant, "princess." Everyone else was as aghast as she was when she announced it out loud. The laughter began when I snatched the plaque back from her hands in hopeless desperation.
What made the discovery worse was that my best friend Ryan's name meant, "prince." You can imagine how much fun that was; the two of us were eaten alive. We may have been on the verge of high school, but that age-old playground song still rings in my head: "Sarah and Ryan, sitting in a tree! K-I-S-S-I-N-G!" Those who remember that day still won't let it go. If we were seen walking through the school halls together, we'd hear, "Make way for Prince Ryan and Princess Sarah!" as everyone made a path. It was annoying, but we got to class faster than anyone else.
Other than that unpleasant period in my life, however, no one ever called me, "princess"--thank god. Sure, that's what my name meant, but my parents didn't name me Sarah so people would treat me like royalty. My Mom actually named me so there was no way anyone could bastardize it with a nickname. "Sarah" can't be shortened or altered in any way, like the names, "Katelyn" or "Christina" can. You can't call me "Sar," or "Rah" or anything ridiculous. You also can't call me, "Princess," because I'll probably never speak to you again.