Twinges of
Regret
by Don Magin
I never had
these twinges before that TV channel started. You
know, the one that only broadcasts the old shows,
from the fifties and sixties. Now I
get twinges of regret because maybe I haven't
been as romantic as I could have been.
In fifty-two
years, I've never had a pet name for my wife. Wasn't
a problem before. Now I've got this
regret about it.
When Desi says
to Lucy, "Let me 'splain to you, Honey",
the "Honey" rattles around in my brain.
So does "Dear"
when Ward asks June, "What's for dinner,
Dear?"
Even frumpy
old Fred is more romantic than I am. When
he calls Ethel "Honeybunch", my regret
twinges tell me I'm more of a dud than Fred.
Just now I
watched Ralph hug Alice. "Baby,
you're the greatest!" What a
fantastically romantic thing to say!
Those words
never came out of the mouth of duddy old, frumpy
old me. Well, I'm going to change all
that. Starting tonight.
"Baby,
how about I pour us a couple of glasses of wine,
dearie? Should I open the red or the
white, Honeybunch?"
"What's
with the sweetsie names? Don't you
think my real name is pretty enough any more?"
Thank you,
sweetheart. I love you too.
(Originally
published in The Shine Journal, July 2009,
believed defunct)
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