D is for Daffy Duck
This blog isn’t about the beloved Warner Brother’s character. This blog, as you suspected, is about Tony Brown. By now I am sure you’re asking yourself what in the hell does Tony Brown and Daffy Duck have in common? Aside from obvious snide remarks, I will say this much:
Something you don’t expect, but will laugh like a loon when you find out.
Let’s begin at the beginning shall we?
My husband calls me My Love. Never my name. Always My Love. He has since we professed our love for each other on that warm autumn day at Crowder’s Mountain. I remember sitting by the side of the lake, talking about this and that, when the conversation got around to our future. Specifically, our future together. He suddenly got quiet. I asked what was wrong. He said nothing. I felt the tension in the air and had an idea that he was thinking about the same thing I was thinking about.
I took the chance and said, “I think I am falling in love with you.”
His face lit up like a neon vacant sign at a Holiday Inn. “Are you? Because I don’t think I am. I know I am in love with you.”
I relaxed at this, then confessed, “Oh good. I was worried what you would say. I’m in love with you too.”
The man scooped me into his bear hug and squeezed the life out of me and declared, “I love this woman! I love this woman! I do! I do!”
Some guy fishing across the lake shouted in return, “Then take her home and tell her there! You’re scaring the fish!”
It was a lovely scene. Since that day he has always called me “My Love.” No matter if I am being a demanding bitch, or if we are just playing a board game with friends. My Love. Always, always, always My Love.
One day, about ten years ago, I grew curious. It’s a lovely affectation, and I wouldn’t change it for the world. Still, I was wondering how or why he settled on that phrase in particular. So I asked.
He pursed his lips, then gave me that shit eating grin that means he will tell me, but I probably won’t like the explanation.
“Tell me,” I said.
“Daffy Duck,” he said.
I crossed my arms and waited. There was more. I didn’t just marry him yesterday.
He grinned wider. “Okay. You know that Daffy Duck bit where he is married and his wife keeps henpecking him?”
I narrowed my eyes at this. “Yes?”
“Well, in it, every time his wife calls on him, he answers, ‘Yes, My Love.’” He grinned again.
Yes. That’s right. He has been calling me a tired and worn phrase spoken begrudgingly by an overworked, underloved, henpecked cartoon duck.
I am not angry. Not then and not now. How could I be mad at that grin?
In case you’re wondering which Daffy Duck bit it was, here you go. Enjoy!
This blog isn’t about the beloved Warner Brother’s character. This blog, as you suspected, is about Tony Brown. By now I am sure you’re asking yourself what in the hell does Tony Brown and Daffy Duck have in common? Aside from obvious snide remarks, I will say this much:
Something you don’t expect, but will laugh like a loon when you find out.
Let’s begin at the beginning shall we?
My husband calls me My Love. Never my name. Always My Love. He has since we professed our love for each other on that warm autumn day at Crowder’s Mountain. I remember sitting by the side of the lake, talking about this and that, when the conversation got around to our future. Specifically, our future together. He suddenly got quiet. I asked what was wrong. He said nothing. I felt the tension in the air and had an idea that he was thinking about the same thing I was thinking about.
I took the chance and said, “I think I am falling in love with you.”
His face lit up like a neon vacant sign at a Holiday Inn. “Are you? Because I don’t think I am. I know I am in love with you.”
I relaxed at this, then confessed, “Oh good. I was worried what you would say. I’m in love with you too.”
The man scooped me into his bear hug and squeezed the life out of me and declared, “I love this woman! I love this woman! I do! I do!”
Some guy fishing across the lake shouted in return, “Then take her home and tell her there! You’re scaring the fish!”
It was a lovely scene. Since that day he has always called me “My Love.” No matter if I am being a demanding bitch, or if we are just playing a board game with friends. My Love. Always, always, always My Love.
One day, about ten years ago, I grew curious. It’s a lovely affectation, and I wouldn’t change it for the world. Still, I was wondering how or why he settled on that phrase in particular. So I asked.
He pursed his lips, then gave me that shit eating grin that means he will tell me, but I probably won’t like the explanation.
“Tell me,” I said.
“Daffy Duck,” he said.
I crossed my arms and waited. There was more. I didn’t just marry him yesterday.
He grinned wider. “Okay. You know that Daffy Duck bit where he is married and his wife keeps henpecking him?”
I narrowed my eyes at this. “Yes?”
“Well, in it, every time his wife calls on him, he answers, ‘Yes, My Love.’” He grinned again.
Yes. That’s right. He has been calling me a tired and worn phrase spoken begrudgingly by an overworked, underloved, henpecked cartoon duck.
I am not angry. Not then and not now. How could I be mad at that grin?
In case you’re wondering which Daffy Duck bit it was, here you go. Enjoy!
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