I've spent a lifetime, literally, trying to come up with the reason my name is Krista.
I don't really like it all that much. I mean, it's OK. But then people call me Kristal, or Kristin or Kristy, because they are completely incapable of coming to the realization that my name ENDS WITH AN 'A.'
KRISTA. K-R-I-S-T-A. Good job.
To make it even worse, I was never able to find little keepsakes with my name on them as a child. Or now, for that matter. If there WAS Krista on a pen, or necklace or keychain, it was the traditional spelling of "Christa." And I say "traditional" as if my name is as common as Jane. However, all those OTHER people spell it with a "Ch."
I prefer to be a rebel. Or my parents preferred to be rebels. Whatever. Rebel on.
Anyhow, I DO have a few objects that bear my name, in the correct form: earrings with rainbows on them, miniature license plates from both Alaska AND Myrtle Beach, a seashell, a birth certificate, etc. And one time, God was evil, and I saw a butterfly necklace with "Krista" spelled across its wings. A BUTTERFLY. I hate butterflies. I didn't buy it, but it was difficult. My name is so rare, it'd be like YOU finding a $50 bill sitting on the barb of a stingray. Here you go thinking, "Damn. $50. It's so close, yet, if I grab it, I'll get stabbed in the heart and die." *
Anyhow, again, I was perusing TheKnot.com this afternoon, because I'm a heinous bride-to-be with time to kill, and I came across bridesmaid gifts. And THIS is what I found, right in front of my face:
Whoa. That is MY name. On a compact mirror that I'm TOTALLY not getting for my bridesmaids. But, seriously, it was just there. All Krista-like. And I need it. And isn't it so pretty? How thoughtful of those lovely Knot folks to think of me.
* Rest in peace, Crocodile Hunter. Totally didn't mean to laugh at your death. Again.