I was called "Patty" in a phone training session (who knew there were so many things to learn about a new phone system?) yesterday at work by the man sent from the phone company and now I see myself in a whole new light.
I've never thought of myself as a Patty. In fact, I don't think I've ever gone to school with (technically, yes, I just remembered a woman in college that I never once talked to who had dyed black hair with heavy, straight bangs, and wore a Spam t-shirt, totally early '90s, I suppose) worked with, or generally known a Patty ever in my life.
Really, Patricia is an older woman's name, and the nickname doesn't make it any younger. Off the top of my head, the only Pattys I can think or are Patti Stanger, Patti LuPone, Patty Duke, and Patti LaBelle, ages 50, 62, 65, 67, respectively.
I don't care much for pattie melts (why, when cheeseburgers are so much better?) and actively hate Peppermint Patties, so I am debating whether I should embrace my inner Patty now. And yes, I know it's St. Paddy's, not Patty's.