Pumpkin? Honey Bunny?
I’m about to tell you something maybe three people in the world know.
My pet name for Mrs. Tater is …
Wait, I better give you some background or you might get the wrong idea.
When I met the future Mrs. Tater for the first time, at her cousin’s disastrous Christmas party — where various unsavory drunken men (such as myself) were openly groping the host’s sisters and other relatives — about the time she was ready to leave, I managed to maneuver the (also punch-drunk) future Mrs. Tater into a bedroom to give her a kiss. Really! I had no other intentions (this wasn’t the place or the time or the right group of people cheering for such a thing for what you filth-minded bastards have in mind).
I gave her the usual “I want to see you again”s and she gave me the usual “yeah, right”s and when our lips met …
I know this sounds like bad fiction, I know it sounds like I have selective memories, that perhaps I’d stuck my finger in a light socket earlier that night and have now conflated the two memories into one, but, no: I felt a literal jolt of electricity up my spine.
One ignores a sign such as this only at one’s peril.
So, long story short, we’re closing in on 30 years and are quite happy with each other. And ever since then, I’ve had a fascination with her lips (the ones on her face, you perverts). She really does have sweet kissing lips, which is how I came to call her Sweet Lips (occasionally Lava Lips, but never Hot Lips because, you know, that belongs to someone else).
Eventually I shortened that to simply Lips. This is just between us, though Tater Tot is in on it; I never call her that in front of other relatives or in public, because it would take too long to explain, and really, haven’t I already taken too long to explain?
So the subject on the table today is: What is your pet name for your S.O., and why?
And if you don’t have an S.O., what’s your pet name for your pecker or vagooter? (Really, Tater? This is a family site, damnit! — DR)
(Back in the mid ’80s, I worked with a guy who claimed his brother called it Emmett, as in “Me and Emmett are going out tonight.” You sports fans will understand why I could never watch those mid-’80s Dallas Cowboys teams the same way again.)
To suggest a diversion idea or leave Tater a fan letter, you can reach him by email.
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