Up until now only those close to Mr. B and myself know there was an unresolvable point of contention in our marriage. Note the “was.” This means this story will end either with a gushy awww or a giggle. So here we go…..
Oh the point. My husband does not have a pet name for me. None, nada, zilch. I am “Trish” no lovemuffin, or cookie or the sarcastic ball and chain. So whenever I heard a friend referred to by her significant other by their pet name Mr. B would get a look. I love the man, but he was oblivious. Until finally I said something. It didn’t turn out good.
He tried. Really he tried. And if you want to know where the soft spot in my man’s heart is located, think cereal. My pet names were cereal brands; which would have worked, but you could hear him trying to hold back the riotous laughter. And, truth be told that kind of talk did sound unnatural and silly coming out of his mouth, so I couldn’t get mad. But I am a girl so the longing for a pet name to pop out, even after thirteen years of marriage, was still in my heart.
Then it happened. My husband’s true true nature came forward. We were in the bathroom brushing our teeth and talking. For whatever reason I was wearing attitude like a new pair of designer shoes. It looked good too. We were laughing at my stupidity. Then I proved myself right at something about the toilet and proclaimed, “Who’s your mama?”
I expected laughter. I expected a comeback. What I didn’t expect was this. My husband stopped thought for a moment and said, “she lives in Montana.”
What? Montana? That’s not a comeback. His mama really lives in Montana. Then it clicked. My husband it literal. With a capital “L” The only thing I could do was laugh. He got me. How else do you recover from something like that?
So, I’ll probably never have a pet name, but if I ever forget about my husband’s mama he’ll remind me where she lives. Gotta love life my friends, it’s never dull.