I don't even know if the spelling is right.
I know there's a Mahmoud Ahmadinejad.
But it's the way he said it. Emphasizing the K sounds with a generous helping of bubbling spit.
MahKKKKmud AhKKKKmadinajahd.
It's a daily battle ground, you see.
Nothing political. US president Obama can handle that. Philippine President Aquino can help after he's done distracting the press with his almost-there love life.
When I say battleground, I mean a battle of will. Between the boyfriend and I, who are, now that I think of it, are in a constant battle of will. It's like a game. And it could be anything. This time it was baby names. There's a theory, you see, that a person becomes his name. So it is of great importance that parents choose their children's names as wisely, as meaningfully, and as lovingly as they can.
And out of the blue, he gives me:
MahKKKKmud AhKKKKmadinajahd
He teases that our future child shall bear that name with great dignity and pride.
I wipe the spit he just showered on my face, gave him a practiced smile and shook my head.
No.
He challenged me to say the name.
No.
He says I can't even pronounce it.
I can...
Trust me. I Can.
I just don't want to.
Because, number one, I just had a generous helping of onion rings dipped in garlic sauce, and I don't want to transfer that to his face. And number two, to him it means my willingness to subordinate. To subjugate. To place Eve at the foot of Adam where the serpent should have been. Sorry, we're exaggerated that way.
So, no.
Some women may find it an additive to their sex appeal when they're submissive to their men. But I was brought up on the principle that the only way for a man and a woman to truly respect each other is when they are equals. So, darling, I love you, but I will not stand behind you like a scullery maid (a level some women stoop to just to snatch a man), but beside you, holding your hand. And admit it, my successful endeavors make you proud.
And I may sound like a bigot but I am NOT calling any of my children by that name. I'm so sorry, love.
But no.
The nice thing about this Mahkmud Ahkmaddinajahd name-game though, is that it's becoming fun. Somehow in the course of our silly conversations, the name has become an intimacy tool. Intimacy comes in so many shapes and sizes but I never knew it would come from this. He would challenge me to say the name and I would refuse. He would raise the stakes and bargain sweet nothings as if testing the limits of my (ehem) steadfast will.
Flowers?
No.
Chocolates?
No.
An all you can eat Sushi dinner!
Tempting. But No. I get that every now and then from Cimbalta-hosted RTD's (hah!).
A chick-flick of my choice with not a whimper of complaint?
No. We already did that for Joker Day.
And it would go on and on until we'd have to continue the barter for the next night.
I'll spare you the mush.
Now what happened was this.
My good friend Floyd, an anesthesia resident and photographer extraordinaire, said he'd take my pictures. (teehee! Haba hair!).
Portraits. As in beauty shots of yours truly, in my present form and facade. It was exciting when we were discussing it. The location. The outfits. We were going to make an outing of it.(YAY! WOOTWOOT!)
See, there comes a time in a woman's life when she feels absolutely hideous no matter what people say. Call it hormones. Call it the PMS. Call it whatever you want. But even the loveliest of us have those horrible, horrible moments of contemplating a pimple like it's Armageddon. And mind you, I am not even in league with the loveliest of us. So, being a subject for a photo shoot is like an MJ high. As you imagine how histrionic you are allowed to be, your mood changes: depressed to euthymic to elated...near mania, if you don't stop yourself. :)
Talk about an ego boost: Ice cream. Crazy crepes. Playing dress up for a day and feeling beautiful for just a while...
Sigh... make it last.
… because at the back of my mind, I knew Moe would have a fit before he gives his consent. Boyfriends are like that, aren't they? They think we need their permission, but the truth is, we only ask because we know its important to them that we do. Tsk..tsk..
And I was right. Of course I was right.
So last night, I opened up the question. Practicing doe eyes that I knew never worked on me anyway (who was I kidding?).
NO.
“Please?” Tried a croon.
NO.
“I'll make it worth your while?...” (blink-blink!)
NO.
Let me just spare you the sugar and spice. Because I'm sure I'm making you gag by now, but when he got tired of me, he heaved out a giant, exaggerated sigh (because we all know he loves the undiluted attention and my sense of need for his approval and that the resistance is nothing but a fishnet for more of the sweet talk).
OK.
huh? (more blink-blink)
OK. On one condition.
Question mark on my face.
Just say Mahkmud Ahkmaddinajahd.
Then evil grin.
Needless to say, the tables have turned and I have no other recourse but to switch on the hormones: Darting looks. Sudden awkward quietude. Then a dramatic turning around with matching hair flippage (antaray!). Haha! He knows it's all an act. It all looks comical on me anyway that I'm absolutely sure he's stifling a laugh.
This is us, feeding on each others idiosyncrasies.
Sigh... amore.
People can't help but go Pepe Lepeu in these times of florid courtships. Even those of us who are way, way past the stage of courtship. Tsk..tsk..
So anyway, I was doing the sudden turn with matching hair flipping and he was stifling a laugh. He pulled me close and laughed for real. When I return the sentiment, he thinks he's won the battle.
Let him.
The hug feels wonderful.
Priceless.
But no. On with the photo shoot, I say in my mind. He just doesn't need to know about it. At least not until after it's been done.
Evil grin.
It's a good thing Floyd is a big bear of a man. He can handle himself, I'm sure. Hahaha! Kidding.
At least I've earned myself some time to come up with an alternate game plan.
So many beautiful names in the the history of mankind and he comes up with “MahKKKKmud AhKKKKmadinajahd.”
Only my Moe.
By the way, need I say I'm on duty? :) When else do I have to stay up late at night eagerly awaiting a phone call?
I just came from the ER to get me a Pamugas Surprise.
What's a Pamugas Surprise?
You have to say “MahKKKKmud AhKKKKmadinajahd” ten times without spurting a single drop of spit first.
Evil Grin.... >:)
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