She Said, Z Said: This Valentine’s Day, Try Playing Name That Spouse!
If you're going to spice up your sex life, make sure you're using the adults-only version of the game
She: In honor of Valentine’s Day we’re going to play, drumroll, please ... Name That Spouse!
Z: You’re Leslie. I win.
She: One of the gajillion Valentine’s Day news releases I got this year was for a book: Stop Calling Him Honey ... And Start Having Sex! How Changing Your Everyday Habits Will Make You Hot for Each Other All Over Again by Maggie Arana and Julienne Davis.
Z: Stop calling him honey and start having sex? Uh ... OK. If those are my two options, you don’t have to call me honey.
She: That’s not what it means. The premise is that by calling your significant other nicknames like honey or sweetie — names you might also call your child, the mailman or your poodle — you desexualize your relationship.
Z: I think that depends on the nickname. I think that back when I called you Bubbles, it worked out fine for me. But when you called me Buckethead, there was a bit of a dry spell.
She: Who knew you were so sensitive?
Z: Also, are you really that friendly with the mailman? And poodles? I’m sorry, but the whole thesis of this book sounds really lame.
She: You have to admit, there have been times when I leave the house and say, “Bye, Honey,” and both you can Koss respond.
Z: The height of efficiency. And you want to change this?
She: It’s not romantic, Snuggly Bear.
Z: Whatever. Poodles.
She: So this Valentine’s Day, in addition to a meticulously crafted art project that I’ve been working on since last February (Have you started making your Valentine for me yet, Pookie?), I’m going to come up with a nickname for you and only you. Something not too silly, not too obvious, something just right.
Z: I’m pretty sure God of Thunder is already taken.
She: I thought about Babe, but Babe feels very 1960s Old School to me, like something floating in the ether at Woodstock. We’re too hip for Babe.
Z: Sure. Nothing says hip like reading a book to spice up your middle-aged sex life. Also, why are you trying to come up with a new nickname? I thought the point was to stop using nicknames.
She: I’m going with an alternative reading. Way more fun. Ever since I read the release I’ve been trying to think of the perfect romantic nickname for you, Stud Monkey.
Z: I think it’s Stud Muffin, and as much as I appreciate the half-hearted nod to my manliness, no thank you.
She: I should try to pick something that riffs on your height, ‘cause I know how much you love being tall. Big Daddy?
She: Little Daddy? Boo Boo, Cuddle Bear, Hot Lips?
Z: What are we, 8 years old? These sound like names for your dolls.
She: See, Doll Face? It’s harder than you’d think it would be to come up with a good nickname.
Z: No, it’s not. I called you Bubbles for years, and it was perfectly serviceable.
She: I actually put your name into a random love nickname generator and it came up with Sweetums Hot-Lovey Smurf and Puppie pot Numnum-Pooh Peepers.
Z: Now that I could totally live with. Man, are you gonna get lucky tonight.
She: I’ll never be able to remember all that. What about something short and sweet, like Ed, or Guy.
Z: There’s always Zak. Or Poodles.
She: Yes, dear.