The evolution of a pet name, or, how Levi and I are probably insane.

So last night, I promised I would blog about the completely ridiculous and entirely embarrassing pet name that Levi and I have for each other. (That last sentence is actually a lie. It’s really still last night, I’m just going to publish this tomorrow. You wouldn’t know any better, except that I can’t lie. It makes me feel bad to lie to my future readers.)

Out pet name started out relatively sane. Well, as sane as a pet name can be. I should probably note that I fucking hate pet names in general, so you’ll never hear me used one in public. (Aside from the occasional “babe” or “baby,” which are acceptable. I don’t know why, there is no reasoning with my mind.) I should also note that “pet name” is not a typo, we are entirely too lazy to come up with one for each of us. Well, one day — probably way too early on in our relationship for it to be healthy — I called Levi “Honey Bunny.” Jokingly, probably. I’d like to think that I could never mean this seriously, as it is the most ridiculous thing that could possibly ever — or so I thought — come out of my mouth. It stuck.

You’re probably all like “Wait a minute, I thought this was supposed to be embarrassing — lots of people call their significant others that!” Well, it evolved. It evolved so weirdly that I am even more embarrassed to mention it in public than I ever would have been had it just remained the almost completely sane and rational “honey bunny.” (I originally typed “ublic.” Because “ublic” is a thing. Seriously, haven’t you heard of the People Reublic of China? It’s a place. Google it. OK. Don’t google it.) Anyway, one day “honey bunny” became “hoobie boobie.” That’s right, “hoobie boobie.” Like, the word “boob” is in our pet name.

The pet name didn’t stop there, however, it evolved twice more. Evolution is a bastard, because I can’t even say that the word boob ever left. The next iteration was “hoobah boobah.” Seriously, if you aren’t vomiting from the ridiculousness of this all yet you should be. I couldn’t even make this up, it’s so bad. I’m doubting whether or not I should even publish this anymore. That’s how embarrassed I am.

Last, and probably — OK, definitely — least, is “boobah.” Swear to God. I call Levi “boobah.” Regularly. Like, if you looked at our previous text messages without this context you’d be all “WTF is a boobah? Have y’all lost your minds?” (You’re from Texas now.) Actually, if you looked now, even with this context, you’d probably still think this.

This is bad, right?

Stephen Battey

Stephen Battey

Stephen is a 25 year old amateur photographer, blogger, and husband from Tacoma, Washington. He shares a cute ass house with his husband, cat, and two dogs. He generally hates all weather patterns.

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