The Captain has a favourite stuffed monkey, Big Wheel.
Sir Monkeypants and I are Big Wheel’s grandparents.
Big Wheel calls Sir Monkeypants “Mighty Bobo” and me “Lala Chachi.”
I am wildly in love with this, and if someday our real grandchildren aren’t actually calling us “Bobo” and “Lala,” I will be very disappointed.
The “Mighty Bobo” name is actually, apparently, circular. The Captain says it can mean “grandfather” OR “son.” So Sir Monkeypants is Mighty Bobo to Big Wheel, but the Captain is Mighty Bobo to Sir Monkeypants, and Big Wheel is Mighty Bobo to Captain Jelly Belly.
And yet, I love.
The other day, Gal Smiley wanted to know why I never use her name, but rather always call her “honey” or “sweetheart” or “cuddle monkey” or “sugarpie” or one of the dozen variants of her name that we throw around. She seemed disappointed in me, as if I don’t know her real name. She doesn’t seem to have much tolerance for anything other than a strict Gal Smiley.
How will she ever survive team sports?
I spluttered a vague explanation about family and closeness. I hope someday she will see that these private names that we have for her make her part of our posse, mark her as our own.
Just call me Lala Chachi.