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Twinges of Regret
by Don Magin

I never had these twinges before that TV channel started.  You know, the one that only broadcasts the old shows, from the fifties and sixties.  Now I get twinges of regret because maybe I haven't been as romantic as I could have been.

In fifty-two years, I've never had a pet name for my wife.  Wasn't a problem before.  Now I've got this regret about it. 

When Desi says to Lucy, "Let me 'splain to you, Honey", the "Honey" rattles around in my brain. 

So does "Dear" when Ward asks June, "What's for dinner, Dear?"

Even frumpy old Fred is more romantic than I am.  When he calls Ethel "Honeybunch", my regret twinges tell me I'm more of a dud than Fred.

Just now I watched Ralph hug Alice.  "Baby, you're the greatest!"  What a fantastically romantic thing to say! 

Those words never came out of the mouth of duddy old, frumpy old me.  Well, I'm going to change all that.  Starting tonight.

"Baby, how about I pour us a couple of glasses of wine, dearie?  Should I open the red or the white, Honeybunch?"

"What's with the sweetsie names?  Don't you think my real name is pretty enough any more?"

Thank you, sweetheart.  I love you too.

(Originally published in The Shine Journal, July 2009, believed defunct)