This is a rule of men. Don’t ever give yourself a nickname. Here’s proof. I played on the baseball reserve team my freshman year. We got our names stitched on our hats, but we got to pick. My nickname at that time was “Conan”, but I got Coen on my hat instead. Our bookkeeper was a rather impish chap. He got a hat also. He decided, for some dumb reason, to call himself “Smallfry”. Oh boy.
The biggest problem, though, was that the nicknames were stitched, which means they were connected at the bottom. I picked up the hat and looked at it. Due to the stitching, I misread the hat. I said, “Who in the hell is Smallery?” An F looks like a E when it is connected at the bottom. Smallfry was not pleased, but his new nickname stuck and we called him Smellery, Mallory, and just plain ol’ Smallery everafter. Thus the rule – don’t give yourself a nickname. See ya Monday, kids. Signed – Dr. Messiah.