Today I went to the The Dreaded Dentist.
I've learned to dread going to the dentist for one Very Valid Reason: they call me Nikki. Now, Nikki is an okay nickname to call me, as long as,

a.) you're my dad
b.) you don't mind getting a black eye. :)

but neither of those clauses usually apply to the dentist office where I frequent.
To make it worse, they don't just call me "Nikki" in passing or write it on my patient report. They USE it. As in, call me it constantly. In the waiting lobby, "HI, NIKKI! COME RIGHT ON IN!" In the hallway. "Okay, Nikki; head right on down here to room four." In the chair. "Nikki, go ahead an hop up into this chair right here." During x-rays. "Okay, Nikki; can you bite down for me now?" In conversation. "So, Nikki, how was it in Texas?"
Some people have phobias of what their dentists will do to their mouths.
Not me. I fear for what mine will do to my fragile emotional balance.

Today they realized that I hadn't been in for a long time, so they asked me to fill out a new Patient Form. In the spot at the top for, "Nicknames" I put in all-caps, "NIC". Yes, Nic. Not Nikki. I handed the paper back and she glanced over it. I'd begun to hope that maybe she noticed her error by my glaring correction....

"Thanks, Nikki; that's all I need for now."