I just had this exact conversation:
Mr. Knitwit: Mrs. Bush…what’s her name again?
Me: Her name is LAURA, you dolt!
Mr Knitwit: Well, why would I know that?
Me: Uhh…because that’s my name too? Maybe?
Mr. Knitwit: Oh…yeah.
Perhaps you should ask Mr. Knitwit to address you as Madame President untill he remembers.
Obviously in your husband’s eyes all other Lauras pale into insignificance.
Still?
Well, it no longer really applies, but it still seems fitting punishment. I will ask him to address me properly from now on.
Honestly, I was just thinking about how much I love him. We’ve only been married about 2.5 years, so my heart is still a-flutter. He:
- Looks like Pierce Brosnan.
- Has an Irish accent.
- Sings and plays the guitar beautifully.
- Occasionally brings me chocolate and tells me to eat it because I’m “way too thin.” (I’m not.)
- Sometimes makes me “proper chips,” the secret ingredient to which is mournful Irish music. Oh, and they help with the problem in #4 above. Heh.
- He’s very thrifty, but thinks I should be dressed very well and he likes to buy me clothes.
- Brags about me when I’m not around.
But, wouldn’t that be Your Majesty? Or perhaps, My Goddess?
How about my Darling Knitwit?
That’s too funny.
Years ago when Dad was still alive I was talking to the father of a friend - his father and mine worked together. Dad was going downhill and I asked the man to stop and see him. He said he would be happy to - but would I remind him of my Dad’s name. I’m sure you have guessed - they shared the same name.
I’m pretty sure he called me that yesterday.
I always blanked on the first name of the guy who worked next door to where I work. He’d often accept our packages for us when we weren’t there. I think it took a couple years for his name to stick in my brain. His first name is the same as mine. :smack:
Myself, I prefer My Reason for Living.
Your Sweetie sounds like a sweetie,** KnitWit**.
Yes, but he really needs something he can use around the office.
My boyfriend’s name is James.
My dad’s name is James.
Neither of them goes by James. One goes by “Jay” and the other one goes by “Jimmie.”
But nonetheless, it irritated the LIVING HELL out of me that my dad, for a good couple of months or so, failed to recall my boyfriend’s name.
Perhaps this was exacerbated by my dad’s fondness for making tasteless jokes about my boyfriend’s half-Italian heritage. “What’s his name? Tony?”
grrrrrr
Names are important. Sometimes they are all you have. Respect them, dammit!
minor rant over
Gotta love them petty arguements:
Heres one of mine:
Her: “Do you think Jane should get that job promotion?” (she LOVES Jane. I can’t stand her)
Me: "(BIG SIGH!) “Yes…” :rolleyes:
Her: “Don’t just say yes to appease me you asshole!”
Me: “(SIGH) OK, I wont.” :rolleyes:
Her: (gives me the titty twister of my life!)
Ah, good times.
That is when you twist her right back.
Update: Hubby has been giving my clothes away to poor people.
It’s hard to get angry at a guy for being TOO generous. So I mostly find this hilarious. But really.
Mr. KnitWit works with some people who are pretty bad off. One of them is a woman who’s recovering from cancer. On top of that, she’s dirt poor, can’t work, and clearly has at LEAST an alcohol problem, and possibly some other addiction as well. She has NOTHING. So, she showed up at work, which meant being outside in this case, with no scarf. At which point my husband opened a drawer in our house and grabbed a hand knit scarf and said, “Here!”
“Uh…which one did you give her? Do you know that’s not washable? I think I paid $30 for the yarn for that scarf.”
“Yeah, well she was freezing and you have 3,000 scarves. What was I supposed to do?”
Right…I would have given her one too. I just might have found an easy care one that I wasn’t attached to.
Yesterday, apparently the poor girl’s feet were cold. Mr. KnitWit says, “I gave her a pair of your old socks. The heels were worn, so I know they weren’t nice new ones.” If the heels are starting to look worn on a pair of my hand knit socks, that means they were one of my favorite pairs.
Socks are a cheap knitting project. But they make for very expensive finished work. That is, for somewhere between 12 and 20 dollars, I can entertain myself knitting socks for a few days, Cheap enough entertainment. But the end result is a pair of, say, 18 dollar socks. Who wears 18 dollar socks? So the poor cancer victim is now RAVING…“Those are the NICEST socks I’ve ever had! They fit so nice and they fit into my shoes well, but they’re SO warm! And the color!” Well, yes…they’re 18 dollar socks!
I left a pair of mittens for her this morning. I agree, no one should go cold, even risk frostbite, while I’m sitting in a house with 40 pairs of mittens and 75 hats. I think from now on, what I have to do to keep from having my husband give away my favorite hand knit items, is keep a stash of washable things that I put somewhere in a “give these away” drawer.
I hope that girl is wearing underwear today.
I am BAD with names as it is. I used to be nearly cripplingly shy as well. Not a good combo.
If I meet a new person that has the same name as somebody else I know well, it sometimes makes it HARDER for me to get their name right, because I guess I am thinking I am dredging up the wrong name.
I am Bill. My three closest neighbors for years were another Bill, John and John. I referred to them as the evil Bill, the good John, the evil John, and of course I was the good Bill 
The whole story was sweet, and your husband sounds like a prize, but this line made me laugh like a loon. Thanks for the morning giggle!
Seconded!
Just think, KitWit, you’ve been doing charity knitting and you didn’t even know it!
I love the idea of knitting for charity. I used to keep an extra “set” (hat, mittens, scarf) in my car. As I drove back and forth to work in Boston, I’d stop and hand a set to any homeless person I saw who looked numb. Every homeless person in Boston has a “Laura Original.” Heh.
It’s just a little weirder to have your OWN clothes taken out of your drawer and handed out.
Glad you guys got a laugh out of it. The whole thing made me chuckle too.