Throughout the years I’ve had several nicknames: ginges, gingela, lil’ boog (that one’s my brother’s fault-his high school nickname was Booger therefore I obviously had to be lil’ boog), She-nay-nay, werewolf (that wasn’t so much a nickname as an insult) and nubs. While I’ve appreciated all of these nicknames [not] it was time for something else.

Over the holiday weekend I decided to give myself a nickname. I saw a lady doing an interview on some television show that went by the name “Taffy.” I wanted it. That had to be my nickname. I’ve forced my husband to start calling me that and I refuse to respond to anything other than the name Taffy. I feel like I’m a good Taffy. Sweet and sticky and chewy and delicious. I would say those are all great descriptors for me. Although, I can’t decide if I want to be Tangy, Laffy or Salt Water Taffy.

My husband was lucky enough to also receive a nickname: Hambone. I’m not sure where that one came from. I think I had a dream about it and therefore it was his destiny to be referred to from here on out as Hambone. The nickname doesn’t really fit him at all but if I have anything to do with it when he dies, which knock on wood is many many decades away, his tombstone will read RIP Hambone.

Taffy and Hambone. Hambone and Taffy. Sounds like a winning combo to me…

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