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12:22 p.m. - 2011-06-07
Aw, Sugar Sugar

So far the 'No Sweetie' rule is turning out to be way HARD. Never realized how often I tack endearments onto what I say to my guys. To other people too. I've got this half yenta/half saucy waitress thing going on. I don't pinch cheeks or tell people to get their hair out of their face, how else can world know how good looking they are? But I'm hell on wheels with 'hon', 'dearheart', and the complimentary hyperbole.

At Shoprite, "Best grocery bagger ever! Look at this, all packed up before I even pay!"

Handing a cold Gatorade to the lawn kid, "Child, you're doing a fabulous job, but take a rest and a drink. You'll fall down in this heat. Such a hard working young man shouldn't die of heat stroke cleaning out the arborvitae."

To the waitress, "You remembered to bring the mayo! See? Smart and efficient!"

I just now realized who I'm turning into…Mrs Gronovitz. She was a neighbor when I was in grade school. Incredibly kind woman. Mrs Gronovitz taught me to knit. She'd give me tiny little tasks to help with and praise me extravagantly. So nice. So encouraging. I'd water all the patio planters and hanging pots and she'd go on like I'd invented penicillin. I was starved for this kind of attention and Mrs Gronovitz marinated me in approval. Being noticed and praised and thanked made me feel shy and awkward sometimes, but I adored her.

There are worse things than emulating a childhood heroine. Mrs Gronovitz hadn't had an easy life, the number on her arm bore mute testament to that. By the time I knew him Mr Gronovitz had gone vague and childlike from Alzheimer's, but Mrs Gronovitz still spoke to him respectfully and was always smoothing his hair and dropping kisses on his forehead. The Gronovitzes lived in a teeny senior apartment, hardly more than a studio (I think that's a bed/sit to you British folks), but the place was super tidy and filled with pretty things.

People ask, Mick does quite often, how I can still want to be decent when the world's shown me such an ugly face? And Mrs Gronovitz is a large part of that answer. As are Mrs B the Story Lady. And Mrs Ferrara. And Irene, my best friends', Lisa and Laura, mom. I didn't have a lucky home life, but I was fortunate that so many others came into my life bearing gifts of kindness and love.

Plus there's that spiel about older women (which is wrongly attributed to Andy Rooney) that goes in part: 'Older women are generous with praise. They understand what it's like to be unappreciated.'

The unappreciated days are over, with Mick around I never lack for affectionate gratitude, but I still think the quote is valid. One of the perks of being quasi-invisible and asexual (not gender-less, I mean I'm no longer anyone's idea of a hot beddable chickie-boo) is the freedom to be an outrageous flirt. My flirty flattery and nonsense is seen for what it is and never mistaken for a Mrs Robinson-esque come-on. Besides, I'm an equal opportunity flirt. I flirt with everyone. So I sling my 'honey-bunnies' and 'sweetie-pies' around indiscriminately and except for my kid, people enjoy it. Mick laps it up. Poor guy, all the women previous to me (including his mother) always called him by his name. Worse, the one right before me called him by the action-hero nickname the kids use at school! Ugh. Like he wasn't even real enough to use his actual name, what the kids called him was good enough. P-tooey!

When we first got together and I made with the pet names he'd always blush and then get this tiny pleased smile. I wasn't the only one hungry for the sweetie soppy stuff. Hence the 'Baby' thing. It was Mick's first chance to be gooey in return so he really went for it. And it doesn't get much stickier than 'Baby'.


Time to take my sugary self off to the shower. Gosh! Hope I don't melt. *snerk* ~LA

8 Wanna talk about it!

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