The grinding of an axe, that is, not the app. EeeeeeeeeeEEEEeeeeEEEEEeeeee. The story of my life the last few years, the chapter that I hope is over. That aside, when someone calls me “dear” (even/especially my long-suffering accomplice), I feel the grind of the axe, or, in other words, it sets my teeth on edge. This was a term of, uh, en*dear*ment that drove The Commander nuts too. Fortunately, my old coot did not call her “dear”. Ever. At least not that I remember.

By the time I was born, the parents had been married 11 years and I remember a happy childhood with much love between my parents but I don’t remember token terms of endearment EVER. The Old Coot *did* have a term of endearment for The Commander in their later years. It was “You Peckerwood”. That term of endearment fit their personalities and relationship perfectly. Please take a note that I also do not want to be called a “peckerwood”. That term of endearment is forever reserved for my parents. In some other life, my given name might work. The problem is that I HATE that name and it just sets off the damn grinder thingy.

When I call someone “dear” it is usually a preface to calling them out on something that I have an issue with. Like, “We need to talk.” Usually a pretty dern friendly thing though. Being a Fin (one with probably quite some Scandahoovian DNA), I am loathe to confront people about serious “issues”. Bad thing? Maybe? Yeah probably. Or maybe not. Sometimes sitting things out is the best course.

I knew that this fishy pic wouldn’t really turn out but it turns out (hee hee) that I like it better than I thought I would. Underwater. Sorta.

Love y’all,
KW

This entry was posted on Wednesday, June 15th, 2016 at 5:49 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.