The Name Game

I was blog-hopping/lurking earlier and laughed out loud at Laurie's latest. This is why.


When Shorty and I first got married, he was still in the Navy. Neither one of us was 18. Neither one of us was a virgin. Neither one of us had lived our previous lives in a bubble. To say there was some history behind us is like, in retrospect, referring to WWI as the "war to end all wars".


Shorty became ill. He was feverish, had chills, and took to his bed (actually the couch). Being newlyweds, I went into full wife mode. I fetched his tea, straightened his covers and, yes indeed, wiped his brow with a cool cloth. He looked up at me and said, "I love you, Cindy".


I immediately called the clinic on base and asked to speak with his doctor. The corpsman informed me that his doctor was not available. I am not one to pull rank - never have been. On the other hand, my name has never been Cindy either. His previous roommate's name was Cindy. Not mine. I told the corpsman that it was important that I speak to my husband's doctor. He told me that I did not understand - that my husband's doctor was unavailable.


I informed him that obviously he did not understand either. That I was blah, blah, blah (insert rank and crap here) and that blah, blah, blah (insert rank and crap here) was ill and that I certainly would speak to his doctor now or someone was freakin' gonna answer for it. The suddenly stuttering and apologetic corpsman informed me that he was sorry, that he did not understand but that he did now and that my husband's doctor would call me immediately and would that be all right, ma'am? Indeed it would.


So Gail called me and asked what was wrong and I told her Shorty's symptoms. She said it sounded like flu and she could probably see him in a few days. I told her that he had called me "Cindy" when he told me that he loved me. She saw him immediately because he was either:
a) delirious or
b) in deadly peril.


He never called me that again.