You might be:
a.) chuckling if you know awkward me and this small college trauma of mine.
b.) grimacing if you know awkward me and this small college trauma of mine. Or,
c.) thinking, “Dayum, girl. You best explain whatch you jus’ said cuz I’m all offendeds ovah here.”
To make a long list of embarrassing examples short, I’ll give you just this one…
He wanted me to call him… “Papi.”
Which isn’t a big deal on the grand scale of things, but for some reason was incestuously weird for me, and I just could not muster up the cojones to say it. I never did end up calling him the P-word.
I like to think that my psychological well-being has fared better for it.
Now fast forward to present day, where D-Man and I are watching Tim Burton’s Corpse Bride. We’ve just watched the scene where the Corpse Bride is wandering around looking for her newly attained (and now escaped) groom, hollering like any proper British corpse would: “Dahling, daahhling, where are you??”
D-Man smiles, turns to me, and asks, “Why don’t you ever call me nice names like that?”
“Nice names like what?”
“Because I’m not a British corpse bride?”
“What’s wrong with ‘babe’?”
This is what’s wrong with ‘babe’:
It’s at this point in our conversation that D-Man accuses me of not being romantic (because getting married in 7 weeks and moving halfway across the world for him isn’t romantic enough), and I realize he might not shut up until he gets a proper pet name. So to claw my way out of ridiculous conversation, I proceed with my trusty plan of action.
Me: “It’s-not-like-you-don’t-have-a-pet-name-WHY-do-want-a-cheesy-one-YOURS-is-way-cooler-and-I’ve-moved-halfway-across-the-world-for-you-and-I’ll-have-your-little-bald-babies-someday-WHAT-MORE-DO-YOU-WANT-FROM-ME?!“ [Sob.]
D-Man: “Do you have to be so theatrical?”
“If it means anything then, I like it when you call me ‘The Man’.”
“It’s actually ‘D-Man’.”
“Demolition Man. I’ve always had a thing for Marvel® comic men.”
“Are you serious?”
“Are you into British corpse ladies that say daahhling?”