i’m pretty sure that most everyone in a romantic entanglement comes up with little nicknames for their sweetheart (that being one of the more obvious ones). some people stick with the traditional, but me, nah, everyone gets something horribly obnoxiously sappy that’s all for them. it amuses the hell out of me, considering just how girly i’m not, but conveniently Chris is amused, too. he just wishes i’d come up with something more tough & manly…doubly amusing for how grunt-grunt neandermale he’s not.
we’re laying around before going to sleep a few nights ago, when i’m busting out my current front-runner for his moniker de l’amour: ladybug. “no!” he protests, at least let me be ‘the ladybug of doom’!” i laugh and veto that one. “ladybug of death?” nope. “ladybug of the apocalypse?” this is ever bit as hilarious as it sounds, with this big strong teddybear of a guy negotiating in a rational fashion (bonus points for no whining) as though this is a serious Issue To Work On. i remind him that of course, he brings neither doom nor death wherever he goes, being as how a)his job doesn’t involve killing anything and b)he’s a pretty decent person overall. then i go on to one of my other favorite pastimes, other than cutesy name-teasing, which is to dispense little lovechomps on his neck. “oh! i got it!” he says. “draculadybug!!”
this am, he calls me on his way in to work, sounding like a frog with a sandpaper throat. “uuugh, baby, i think i have a sinus infection,” he croaks out. after the standard sternly-worded injunctions to get his ass back home and into bed, he tells me that he does have good news. “i can be the ladybug…of pestilence now!”