Married life involves some adjustment. For the first month after my wedding, I persisted in calling David "my fiance" instead of my husband. Maybe it was because we had such a long engagement and I was so used to thinking of him in those terms. Or maybe it was because subconsciously I was reluctant to think of David as a husband.

The word "fiance" sounded so much more romantic and dashing. I envisioned a young Omar Sharif brandishing roses and a diamond ring. The word "husband" brought up different mental images. I imagined Homer Simpson flopped on the couch, a bucket of Church's chicken balanced on his belly.

The word "husband" also has rather traditional connotations. Now that David's a "husband," will he smoke a pipe and kick his car's tires? Now that I'm a "wife," will I don pearls and pumps when I vacuum?

In the first week of our marriage, we were playful with our new titles.

"Wife!" David would bellow from the den. "Bring me a beer!"

"I'll have to ask my husband," I'd say coyly when the waitress asked whether I wanted dessert.

We were just teasing. If David wants a beer, he gets it himself, and I don't need his permission to stuff myself with crme brle. We think of ourselves as having a hip, millennium kind of marriage. But I discovered that no matter how modern you think your marriage is, some times you're plunged back into the days of Ozzie and Harriet.

"Look at this!" I said, handing him a cream-colored envelope that had just arrived in the mailbox.

"Is that an invitation?" David said.

"See what it says on the front!"

There it was, in black-and-white calligraphy. The envelope was addressed to Mr. and Mrs. David Neches.

It was such a shock to me. I'd been married for only a couple of months, and already I'd disappeared, swallowed up by my husband's name.

"There's no Karin. No Gillespie. Just this Mrs. person," I said with disbelief.

When I was in the sixth grade, I had a ferocious crush on a boy named Bob Bickford and scribbled Mrs. Bob Bickford all over my notebooks, thinking it was the most romantic thing in the world.

But that was back in the '70s when almost everyone took her husband's name. Except for a very brief marriage years ago, I'd been Karin Gillespie for more than 40 years. My name is on file with the Library of Congress. I have three video rental cards in that name!

Since the time David and I announced our engagement, I'd told everyone I was keeping my maiden name because of the following reasons:

1. I'm an author, and didn't want to confuse my fan base. (All 14 of them.)

2. Because of our advanced ages and dwindling energy, David and I are not planning on having any children, so there was no reason to have the same name.

3. I would have to make a trip to the DMV to change my driver's license, and I'd rather chew glass than go to the DMV.

So I'll say it officially. Call me wife, call me David's better half or even call me a radical upstart, but remember that Karin Gillespie is still alive and kicking, and there is no such person as Mrs. David Neches.

Augusta resident Karin Gillespie is the author of Bet Your Bottom Dollar and the upcoming A Dollar Short. She can be reached through her Web site, www.karingillespie.com.