rant

I come from a family of nicknamers (don't we all?). And for the ten years that I was an only child I had a plethora of little loving nicknames that my mom would coo at me. Twinkletoes and Punkin being the most prominent two. When my little babysister was born, I quickly learned the art of sharing as slowly my little Twinkletoes name became hers. And my little Punkin name slowly whittled down to simply, "Punk."

And that's fine. I can handle it. I still find it sweet and endearing. Years go by. And yeah, okay, decades. I'm still Punk. UNTIL. Until until lately when I've been spending a little bit more time with my mom. And her dog. Her dog who has the perfectly fine name of Dini. Her dog, DINI, who I keep hearing being referred to more and more as Punkin.

Which is not okay. Eager to be fair and balanced I offer up the suggestion of calling Dini "Twinkletoes" (sorry Becca). And my mom just smiles and ignores me and says "but she is such a Punkin."

Life is so unfair.


Epilogue.

Mom: you sure have a smarty pants look on your face.
Mar: you should read my blog.

[pause as mother reads]

Mar: You better hope Child Protective Services doesn't hear about this.

[pause as mother chuckles]

Mar: And how come I get "Punk" and Becca doesn't get "Twee"?!
Mom: I call her Twink. But these names are interchangeable. I call you Twink.
Mar: No you don't.
Mom: But that dog... I just cannot call her Twinkletoes.

Which just adds fuel to my fire.

I'm thinking here that replaying mundane family nicknaming squabbles is probably not the most interesting reading in the world.