North Idaho Way : The name is Sherry – not Sweetie or Sugar Pants
I have a pet peeve. It doesn’t sound like a big deal to most people, but it’s like a jigger that burrows under my skin and digs deeper and deeper until I’m practically insane.
It’s those women who call everyone Sweetie or on. What the heck? Don’t they know that’s rude? OK, I guess there should be a list of rules about it. Some sort of guidelines. 1) Women 60 and over can do it and I won’t harm them. 2) Female relatives are safe if they’re older than I by at least 10 years. All others are off limits. No waitresses, cashiers, strangers or people I graduated with.
As soon as someone calls me a name, I immediately want to call them something back, and it’s not near as pretty as what they called me. But they do it so happily and innocently that I rarely say anything. I just sit through the abuse.
My husband and I went out to dinner, and the waitress brought our water. “Here you go, Sweetie,” she said to me, causing the hairs on the back of my neck to cringe. She tapped Lee’s shoulder. “I’ll give you a few minutes, all right, Hon?”
The first Sweetie filled me with dread. Great. Now we’d have to sit through the next hour with one of “those” people – the ones who use endearments to complete strangers every time they speak. Calling my husband Hon set my teeth on edge, and we were only at the initial glass of water stage of the meal. The actual taking of the order garnered a Honey for me, and another Hon for Lee. My left eye started to twitch.
When the meal came, I was back to Sweetie and Lee was now Honey, which brought on a strange tic in my cheek, an involuntary muscle that pulled all the skin to one spot in quick jerks. The delivery of the meal showered us with more endearments, and because Lee knows it drives me insane, he asked for extra sour cream so she’d have to make one more trip to our table.
Even though she was an excellent waitress, I didn’t want to leave a tip. But, my husband seemed to enjoy my silent tantrum and left a few extra bucks.
I don’t get it. What would make someone talk to a complete stranger that way? What would make anyone think it’s OK to use endearments that only a spouse, mother or grandma has a right to use?
There used to be a gal in her 20s who worked at Wal-Mart. I hated to get in her line because she was the greatest offender of all. One fateful day I stood in line to get my fabric measured and cut, and she addressed each person with a more inventive name than the last, Honey Buns, Sweet Pea. A lady of about 60 stood in front of me. “Whatchya need, Sugar Pants?” the offender asked her.
Sugar Pants? Come on, that can’t be legal, can it? Isn’t there some kind of law this abuse would fall under? I mean, I wouldn’t have the nerve to call my own mother Sugar Pants. My jaw clenched. Normally not a violent person, I was 100 percent prepared to knock her out if she called me anything resembling chunky monkey. My mood must have been caught on tape because right at my turn someone else came to give that gal a break.
My son brought his future wife home, and she started calling me Hon and Sweetie. Instantly my face started twitching convulsively. Why would a 20-year-old start calling her fiance’s mom names? One of my boys warned her that my pet peeve is her nasty habit. Fortunately she stopped before any permanent damage was done. I still love her, and she hasn’t slipped up since, unless she’s deliberately teasing me about it.
So why do people start doing it in the first place? Does it feel awkward the first few times they call a stranger Sweetie? Do these people just wake up one morning and make a conscious decision to start slinging endearments at everyone they cross paths with? Come on, people, stick to the rules. If you’re under 60 and not my aunt, don’t call me Sweetie.