Sorry, Bidda

There's this nickname I have for Seth, and he hates it worse than death. Every time he asks me politely to stop calling him that, I consider it. And then I say, "Maybe."

And then sometimes I say, "It was an accident."

But I don't think he believes me. I think he thinks I call him that name just to torment him.

He tries to draw analogies, like "You calling me Bidda is like scraping your fingernails on a chalkboard." Or "You calling me Bidda is like me tickling you" (which I hate worse than death).

But it just pops out! It comes naturally! It may have been his name in heaven before he came to earth.

Something happened the other night that I feel lent authenticity to the nickname. Or at least proof that I don't do it on purpose to annoy him. The only reason I know this happened is because Seth told me.

I was asleep. But then I sat up. And I was mumbling about finding a photo to put on the fridge. And then Seth apparently tried to accuse me of not making sense or not being awake, and I said, "Stop bothering me, Bidda."

And then I rolled back over and slept like a rock the rest of the night.

So.... right? You're thinking the same thing I'm thinking?

If I call him Bidda in my sleep, it shows how much the nickname has become a part of my soul. Right?

But I think he sincerely hates it. So I may stop. Just like I gave up my regular routine of tapping him on the top of the head while he's praying because he asked me to do so with just the right look of pleading in his eye.

But it will be tough. Because I call him Bidda even in my sleep.

I want to go down in history as the best wife in the world. Obviously, I'm well on my way.