After our discussion about terms of endearment, I've been a lot more aware of nicknames tossed about in my presence. A few thoughts:
My mom managed to avoid calling me or Mac by our given names the entire afternoon on Saturday. There were many "sweet pea," "baby boy," and "Annie" references, but the day eased my conscience as came to realize my love of nicknames is undoubtedly genetic.
That must explain why I called Bradley "Boo" in front of approximately 4o people Saturday and our entire small group the next day. I didn't have the heart to bring up the deeper To Kill A Mockingbird meaning, so now I'm just using thug-style pet names for my husband in public. We should record a track on 50 Cent's next album about it.
I called Mac "Monkey" all day at the lake Sunday because "Macky" and "Maggie" sound too much alike. Mac grabbed a handful of precious Maggie's hair and when I tried to correct him, the poor doll thought I was admonishing her. Sweet thing! So "Monkey" and "Monk-Monk" (cringe, I know) were my only substitutes.
Our families know men who have shunned their God-given names (James, each of them) for Jiggy and Skeeter, respectively. I have a great-uncle who goes by Junior well into his seventies. Uncle Junior is beyond delightful, but it never occurred to me until it came time to address wedding invitations that he might have an actual name.
B has an Aunt Bunny, which doesn't even faze me after growing up in a state filled with ladies called Way-Way, Weesie, Cricket, Cookie, Jiffy, Mitten, Boo and Lolly.
Also, Bradley has met a man called Puddin'. This is not a joke. Next time you hear me refer to Mac as "Monkey," just you remember that...
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