i simply say baby, oh baby, my sweet baby you're the one

I have a habit of attaching endearments to people. Within 7 minutes of meeting you (sooner if I get the impression you're all up in my bidness), you'll think I've clearly forgotten your given name. Oh no, sweets. I'll know it. You'll just never hear it pass from my lips again.

I didn't use to be one of those "Sweetie this, Honey that" girls. Not at all. I may be able to trace this habit back to my father, who, while I was growing up, always referred to me as Squirt, but I think it developed in earnest a couple of years ago when I met my best girlfriend. As we were forging our friendship, we'd spend hours on the telephone and for some reason we apparently forgot we possessed the X chromosome and took to calling each other "Dude."

"Dude! Seriously!?"

"It's amazing, Dude! You really should try it."

"Love ya, dude!" (This would have been the only clear indicator we still sported boobs and didn't spit or grab ourselves. For the most part).

I've since broadened my endearment horizons beyond my basic "man slang." Now people close to me are "pumpkin" or "my precious." I've muttered out a breathless "baby" in place of the names of people who've stretched well past the age of 12 months.

And don't even think I'm going to hesitate if I feel like slipping some "puddin'" on you if I think you've earned it. After all sweetheart, you deserve only the best!

No one has ever complained to me about my excessive use of "dear" or "luv," and I've certainly not taken issue to being referred to as "goddess" or "the best thing that ever happened in my life." When you're comfortable with someone, I think these kinds of monikers get attached.

Don't you, babe?

But last night, I was reminded that sometime it may be good to reign some habits in.

While manning a cash register for a coworker's break, I smiled politely at young family and invited them to bring their purchases forward to ring them out. Two very darling boys happily handed me books they'd selected, a baby entertained herself in a stroller, and the obviously pregnant and tired woman corralled them all while dad took on the retail business at hand.

"Hey sweet baby? I'm going to get your name on our membership card," the man said as he gathered a stack of books and magazines and turned briefly toward me.

"That darling woman right there should be on that card now since we just got married and all," he told me, the goddess who works at Barnes and Noble.

(Yes, sometimes I also refer to myself with pleasing endearments. It kills the time and makes me feel good. Like some of my other habits. I won't link to the posts where I mention those habits. I think you know what I'm talking about).

"You're precious," I muttered, and listened as their conversation floated on endearments that I believe, could they have taken shape and been seen, would have been carried by little round bellied cherubs hoisting gossamer ribbons through a parting flock of song birds and fluttering butterflies. Only in my imagination, those little angels would have been sporting bad attitudes and bitching because they weren't getting paid extra to look all sweet. And God's winged creatures? They may have been diseased.

"We're should we go eat, lover?"

"Oh, baby, you look tired, sweetheart."

"Baby? Remind me that we have to go to the bank tomorrow, together, holding hands and touching each other lightly in the reflection of the brightest sunbeams, and deposit that check."

"Come 'ere, Loverboy" I snapped (in my mind, because I have to in order to keep banking that minimum wage). "Will that be debit or credit?"

"Here sugar, use my debit card instead," the woman offered, pulling her husband's hand away from his front pant pocket as he reached for his wallet.

"Oh baby, you know I love it when we use your money instead," he replied. Then blew her a kiss. In front of me. A person whose name should rhyme with "cynical."

The entire transaction probably took 2 minutes to complete, but in that time I felt like I was one person shy of observing a porno threesome. Then I considered I could dangerously slip and be that third person by proxy simply by referring to the man as "sweetie" when I handed him his bagged purchases.

Trust me. I've done it before.

Wait. Not the threesome part. Seriously? Is that where you went with that thought? So quickly? Because if you say yes, I'm going to be a delightful mix of happy sprinkled with a dash of confused. Mixed well with some "Really?"

So anyway, as Sugar and Baby walked away, I wondered if I actually pepper my conversations with friends and loved ones with as many endearments as they easily subjected me to hearing. When do you cross the line from being all friendly and loving to creepy, I wondered.

But then the cashier I was covering for returned and thanked me for giving her a break.

"No problem, sweets," I said, and skipped off.

Trailed by little round bellied cherubs and beautiful song birds. Because they're precious, and so are you, puddin'.