Since I talk about my family here, it’s somewhat handy for them to have names. My daughter Molly’s cool with the concept. (I think she likes her five minutes of fame, to be honest.) And you’ll recall my son recently picked out the blogging name “Frank.” It’s my husband who’s being recalcitrant.
His response when I asked how he’d feel if I used his real name: “I’ll think about it.”
Let me tell you, it’s hard to be married as long as I have and not understand what that means: “over my expired, carbon-based life form when it shuffles off this mortal coil, that’s when you can. But I won’t tell you that for three months.”
So howsabout, as a blog project and favour to me, we’ll pick out a suitable name for my husband together?* And no, P doesn’t know we’re doing this. It falls in the Need to No category, meaning if I feel the need to ask his permission, he’ll feel the need to say “no.”^
First you’ll need information about my husband. As you read, please stay open to all male names, not just the ones beginning with P. Make your choice according to personality—oh, and I hate to be picky, but Algernon’s right out:
1. Has salt and pepper hair, distracted air, ready laugh.
2. Religious and spiritual, yet makes his best origami cranes with church bulletins during the priest’s homily.
3. On days when he can’t be present – like yesterday – willing to loan out pheromone-soaked sweaters to his spouse so she feels safely enfolded in his arms.
4. Possesses the manliest of manly pheromones.
5. Memory like an elephant, except regarding dinner’s timing.
6. Quotes Bugs Bunny verbatim.
7. Quotes Bugs Bunny verbatim at inappropriate times, such as when spouse is in need of a Poor Hope moment instead of a rallying laugh.
8. Will sit through an entire romantic comedy, silent, but with a pained expression on his face. (Still, a vast improvement over Robert Pattinson’s constipation in Twilight.) In the climactic tender moment, when hero and heroine finally kiss, he will yell, “Slip her the tongue.” (Which, come to think of it, would have added to the tenderness in Twilight while inviting homicide in When Harry Met Sally.)
9. Has moments the timbre of his voice sounds exactly like George Clooney.
10. Reserves his George Clooney voice exclusively for phone calls from work, where I am not. Ever.
11. Terrified by babies; immobilized by dirty diapers; captivated by toddlers; excellent with teens.
12. Superb chocolate-squishing skills.
13. Superb-er chocolate-eating skills. (Were we meant for each other, or what?)
15. Refuses to wear wedding ring.
16. #15’s not a deal-breaker because he doesn’t wear his watch or engineering ring either. In fact, he hates constrictive clothing or jewellery of any kind and will pitch his tie to the back of the closet the second he’s able – or he would if he were the pitching kind, which he isn’t. Except with socks.
(In other words, ties = hung; socks = floor, one foot from hamper.)
17. Only likes music with a 4/4 rhythm, like Johnny Can’t Read, which causes him to drum the wheel with both palms while tapping the accelerator with his foot. As a result, our van’s on anti-seizure meds and must get its license renewed yearly.
That’s not all I could tell you about my husband, of course. After XX years, I know at least three or four more facts. But that’s enough to get you started.
So what say you, peeps? What should I call my husband, in the privacy of this blog, for the next many years?
*Said in a “won’t this be fun” tone, as if I were handing you binoculars while we surveyed a nudie beach in Cannes, rather than a kindergarten teacher asking you to help on a composting field trip.
^Kidding. He knows I talk about him, would let me use his real name, but because of his hesitation, I’ve chosen to be protective.