roll call

Tonight I heard my mama call my orange cat, Punky, every name in the book.  It went like this:

I watched Roger come in my room and start snooping around under the dresser and I said, "Roger, are you looking for Muffy?"

"Muffy?" I asked.

"Yeah, Muffy or Tuffy or Muffin or Puffin...you know...that yellow cat," Mom answered.

Awww!  That hurt my feelings because clearly Punky is more than that yellow cat.

Honestly, am I the only one with an 86 year old mother (or Grandmother for that matter) that runs through a list of names before they reach the right one?

When we were growing up it was bad enough having a twin and people messing our names up.  They would say, "Sherry, blah. . blah. . blah," or "Merry, blah . . blah. .  blah."

But that never bothered me. Seriously.

It was only when my grandmother, Bigmama,(can you tell I'm from Tennessee?) ran through her list of names like: Debby, Tom, Steve. . .  Clearly she could see I was NOT a Tom or Steve; but she went through the roll call anyway.

Well, now my mother does the same thing. 

I wonder how Maddie will feel when I call her Truett or Sam or Oliver or whatever your name is.

Children, beware!

I think it's an age thing.
 
 

  
 

Comments

[sherry pearl]

She's always called orange cats, yellow cats and speaking of yellow, I love the yellow roses.