Remember this girl? The one I told you I was falling in love with?
Well, we’re in love. Both of us. With each other. It’s true. And she said I could tell you that.
And (insert boyish giggle) yep, she’s my girlfriend. And I’m her (insert boyish giggle) boyfriend. We’re (gulp) official. Haha. But I’ll introduce her more properly in a later post. For now, we can all just call her The Farmer’s Daughter, which I will probably call her here on the blog.
I tell you all this because you need to know that we are at a place together that the following story shouldn’t have happened. SIGH. But it did.
Anyway, there was this one point where I didn’t get to see her for ten days, which in burgeoning relationship terms is more like ten weeks. And when she came back from wherever the heck she was, I invited her to come spend the day with Noah and me. She hadn’t met Noah yet and I thought it was time.
We went to the aquarium. It was awesome. Octopi, sharks, penguins, all that crap.
We went to the store and got stuff to make dinner together. That was equally as awesome. Shopping games with Noah, great eating debates, and all that crap.
What wasn’t awesome, was my massive fail while we were making dinner.
Noah was sitting on a tall barstool at the counter, doing homework.
The Farmer’s Daughter was sitting on the barstool next to him, watching me finish the asparagus.
And I stood on the other side of the counter, washing and cutting those long green beauties to make my mean, not so lean, butter soaked garlic and parmesan asparagus special.
“So, J…” I said. And that’s all I said. The sound of the letter J. I clamped that sucker off because the moment it came out, I knew I was about to call her… Jeni.
Jeni is not her name. Jeni is the name of a girl from my past.
Her name is Sarah. It definitely doesn’t start with a J.
I quickly began searching the archives of my mind for any pet-name that I could use, but I was drawing blanks. I could have called her June Bug, or Jamamamama, or Jus’ so Purty. Anything at all. But I couldn’t think of a danged thing.
And The Farmer’s Daughter looked at me all funny-like. She knew I had stopped myself from whatever was about to roll off my tongue.
And I searched my mind even harder as the silence stacked on top of itself.
Then, with the grace that only a six-year old can offer, Noah piped in LOUD and CLEAR. “Dad, her name is Sarah! It’s not that hard to remember her name! Say it! SARAH!”
I growled at Noah with one side of my mouth, and sheepishly smirked at her with the other side of my mouth.
I was busted. By my kid.
And The Farmer’s Daughter gave me an evil smile and said, “I don’t know Noah, I kind of want him to finish what he was going to say.”
And I confessed. There was no getting around it. Even that far into it I couldn’t think of a dang thing to cover up my blunder, so I told her the truth.
And for the rest of the night she called me Mike.
Dan Pearce, Single Dad Laughing
PS. Have you ever slipped and said an ex’s name to your current sweetie-pie-schnookie-nookums? Stories, please. And of course, would love your comments about the above fail.
PPS. This blog post has also been recorded as a podcast. You know, if you’re into that kind of thing.