Say my name, say my name

So I just realized last night, as I was filling out the return card for this wedding that's vexing my life, that my name is spelled incorrectly on the front of the envelop that was mailed to me. I'M IN THE FRIGGIN' WEDDING and they've misspelled my first name.

I realize in the Deep South, they like to anglo-cize everything, but these people are Greek like me! Well, okay, the mother isn't but, still, she should know my name by now. She's known me my whole damn life. I was outraged. Outraged. It's bad enough I have to sit at work everyday and hear PR people and old ladies mangle my name, as if they've never heard it before, as if it weren't the most popular name in all of the Spanish-speaking world and half of Europe, but these people KNOW me. They've known me for three decades. They've wiped snot off my nose and picked olive pits out of my ears. If they can't get my name right there is not hope for me here. None. I'm just going to have to switch countries - that's all there is to it - and preferably, ahead of this wedding.