I’ve been called a lot of things before. It kinda irks me when I hear the word “prostitute” as I’m heading out the door and I was definitely miffed when an ex (who at one point I was trying to be friends with) yelled “slut” when I told him my future plans to live in sin (move-in) with the new boyfriend. It also doesn’t help when my first name is a dead ringer for the heroine of Pretty Woman. But at least she became the epitome of class.

I love nicknames. However, just for the record, I don’t like any of the nicknames described above. But I do love when nicknames come from a place that’s special and unique. I used to get a tiny bit weirded out when boys toss around: babe, sweetie, honey, sugar. They’re good standbys and don’t take much thought or creativity — that’s why you’ll see me using these a lot when my brain has shutdown and accessing people’s names in my memory bank is difficult.

There is one rule to the nicknaming convention. Don’t start giving any separate body parts nicknames. You might think its cute calling the twins: Sloppy and Mr. Snuggles. But then I might think its adorable to call your package: Junior, or Tiny Tim.