Honey and Sweetie

The Homeowners Association crammed a tennis court behind our former home. It was a nuisance. We cursed it, until ‘they’ began to practice tennis every Saturday morning. Like a Jersey Shore series, it became a stage and a source of singular delight.

‘They’ were a middle-aged couple, probably married. I say ‘probably,’ because of their terms of endearment. They never called one another by given names. She called him ‘Sweetie.’ His love-note was ‘Honey.’ Married couples are weird this way. It was just too sicky-sweet. We knew the ending would be bitter as gall.

Whomp. “Good shot, Honey,” he yells. Whomp. “Not so hard, Sweetie,” she responds. Back and forth it goes. Honey this, Sweetie that. They drag out the nicknames, like, Honeeeeey and Sweetieeeeee. The emphasis is on the last syllable. Nauseating. The minutes wear on.

Things soon get interesting. Whack. She slams a wild shot. “Concentrate, Honey,” he says. “Ok, Sweetie,” she responds. Her voice is a little testy. Slap. The ball hits the net. “Quit slicing. Are you Billie Jean?” he says. Impatience creeps into his voice. We take note. The saccharin appellations are turning sour.

“Charge the ball, Honey,” he barks. The condescension comes through. “Then quit those stupid lobs, Sweetie,” she retorts. A hard edge sounds in her voice. “Honey, keep your eyes on the ball, alright-already,” he coaches. She stops in mid-court. “I’m doing my best, Sweetie,” she fires back. Ah, the session is heating up nicely. Mayhem will soon arrive.

There’s a subtlety in the use of pet names. It all hinges on the emphasis of the syllable. The New Jersey couple is a case study of the evolutionary process of syrupy sobriquets gone sour. Their emphasis is now on the first syllables, like HONey, and SWEEtie. The names have morphed into noms de guerre. The harsh tones are shoving them to the brink of the abyss. Our nerves tingle with the tension.

We all use special cuddly-bunny names for our friends, lovers, spouses and animals. The list is endless. It has no relationship to reality. For example, I sometimes call my dog ‘Snowflake.’ He has wised up, knowing that a bath is coming. One of my favorites is ‘Sweet Lips,’ though the recipient is often just the opposite. Name withheld.

A friend calls her husband ‘Babe.’ What kind of name is this for a man? It’s less descriptive than it is a disguise. Maybe there’s something to hide. Could he be a cross-dresser? What do I know? Reality is irrelevant.

Sometimes pseudonyms can backfire. Take the common use of ‘Hon.’ It’s ‘Honey-gone-south,’ a favorite of waitresses. Its use is prevalent in cheap diners and hash-brown joints. I once made a mistake by using it in calling for my wife. Some lessons are only learned by experience.

Labels can become self-fulfilling prophesy. I once dated a girl named Becky. She had an affinity for all things sweet. I called her Becky-pie. She endured it at first. Later she embraced it. She became the Betty Crocker Cook of the Year in Mississippi. She opened a pie factory, got rich and now competes with Mrs. Smith’s apple pie. She owes me!

Over-use of name-substitutes causes the loss of their exclusivity. It can backfire on us. ‘Baby’ is one of these. Everybody uses it. My wife discovered this when I called the Tax Assessor ‘Baby.’ It’s no longer in my vocabulary.

I asked friends for some of their favorite love-names. Here are a few: Jelly-roll, Prune-cake, Apple-dumpling, Poo-bear, Sweet-cake and some just too salacious to mention. The most used were, of course, Mama and Daddy.

A friend called her husband ‘Darling’ for years. I asked her how she could be so sweet after so many years of marriage. She said, “Simple. I’ve called him this for so long I can’t remember the crusty old dirt-bag’s name.” Frightening.

Back to the NJ couple. Things went sideways for them one Saturday. They played tennis too long. The shouting turned nasty. I recall the arrival of an ambulance and her standing over his comatose body with a broken racket. You can draw your own conclusions. As for me, I conclude golf with my spouse is definitely out. Bridge is a safer substitute.

I hear my wife calling now, “Angel-puff, I need you.” A prophesy? Nah…it’s just going to be a very long day!

Bud Hearn
April 12, 2012