Thursday, April 26, 2012
Terms of Endearment
A couple of days ago, our second oldest son came for an overnight visit. (He's a high school teacher and this week is his spring break, and he decided to spend part of his vacation catching up with his dear old mom and dad.) He heard his father call me by this new term of endearment, and his take on it was different than mine: he thought it sounded like something out of the fifties, something you'd hear a husband say to his wife on a black and white T.V. show. Like something Ward Cleaver might call June on "Leave it to Beaver."
"Exactly," my husband said. That's just what he'd been going for: a sort of throwback to some of that good, old-fashioned chivalry and gentlemanly courtesy so lacking in our modern world. And really, it's actually a huge compliment: it means that out of all the girls he could have chosen, I guess he liked me best! How lucky am I?
I've decided that I'm going to start calling my hubby my "main squeeze." And I'm going to be slightly disappointed if I do and he doesn't come back with, "Your main squeeze? Are there others? How many squeezes do you have, anyway?" If he does, it will be exactly what I deserve. (When he gets up, I'm going to execute this little experiment, and tomorrow I'll post the results.)
The above painting is called "Little Spooners," by Norman Rockwell. That's my husband and me on that sagging bench. At least, that's what I always see when I look at this piece of artwork.