Tonight I went through the Wendy’s drive-through and a teenage boy called me “sweetheart.”  As in, “Here’s your order, sweetheart.  Have a great night!”

It threw me.  Either he’s one of those people who just sprinkle endearments meaninglessly through their conversation, or I am pushing eighty.  Which is it?

I call my kindergartners “sweetheart”.

I call Paul “sweetheart”.

I call Katie and Caleb “sweetheart” (when I’m not calling them Destructo Boy and The Mad Scatterer).

I don’t think it would ever occur to me to call another adult sweetheart, least of all one older than me.  It made me feel…well, a teeny, tiny bit nettled.

But then the fries were ready, and I got over it.

5 responses »

  1. I used to call everyone “love” for some reason. So did my sister. I stopped when I started dating Jim because for some reason it bothered him that I called the pizza boy “love”. Weirdo!

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