Yesterday, I called my fiancé "Gary". (His name is Jerry.)
It wasn't the first time. (More like the 40th.)
Jerry is a weird name. Like the name of some guy living in a trailer missing a front tooth. Sometimes I can't even manage "Gary". When referring to him in conversation, to my sister, my mind becomes confused. I can't remember his name, like a reverse form of Tourette's Syndrome.
I open my mouth over and over without making a sound like a fish plucked from the ocean trying to breath. (Please visualize.)
Eventually, I exhale and say, "what's his name" or "that guy I'm going to marry."
My nephews scream, "Oh my GodDUH, you don't even know the name of the man your going to marry?" The youngest nephew throws me a verbal life raft; "You mean Jerry" he says.
"Yes Brody. That's exactly who I mean. You're a very good boy." I say. "Please have some candy."
My mother called my father, "Pete." I was 16 when I learned his name was really Richard. Who creates "Pete" as a diminutive of Richard?
When I call Jerry "Gary"... at least I'm close.