Third Person

Years and years (and years) ago, while at a party, a guy came up and introduced himself to my friend and me.

“My name is Dave, but my friends call me Buddy and I call myself Barry.”

“Um…do you refer to yourself in the third person often?” I asked, with a laugh.

Blink. Blink. Blink. I could almost see the wheels in his head turning. 

“WHOA! We’ve got some college girls here tonight!” he yelled.

So always notice a serial third person referrer. And I’ve always hated, hated, HATED it when parents refer to themselves as “Mommy” or “Daddy” or whatever.

“Come over by Mommy!” “Don’t touch Daddy’s car!” “Tell Mommy you love her!” UGH!

So imagine my utter shock and disdain when I heard myself saying to my 5-month old, “Don’t hit Mommy!”

To my credit, the kid was smacking me in the face. And I’ve been saying “Mama, Dada and Lola” to him repeatedly because I can’t wait for the day that he says any of those words.

But you mark my words, I will NEVER refer to my husband as “Daddy”. I HATE IT. “Daddy, what should we have for dinner?” NO. WAY.

But is it hypocritical for me to think it’s super cute when my grandparents refer to each other as “Ma,” “Pa,” or even “Grandma”? No, it’s not hypocritical. They’ve been married for 60 years. They can call each other whatever they want. They’ve earned it.


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