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When I first started this blog I referred to my husband as just that – my husband. That got old fast. I knew I couldn’t use his real name – I was still blogging anonymously at that point (ha!). So I asked him to pick a fake name. And asked him again. And again. Finally, I told him that if he didn’t pick something I was just going to call him The Ass – a joke nickname we’d been using on each other for a decade.
“Fine” he said. I had about twelve readers. Neither one of us really thought it mattered.
Fast forward a few years and it mattered. I got questions about it all the time. “Yes, he’s OK with it.” “No, I’m not mad at him.” In fact, since I always thought of it as an affectionate nickname I never ever used it when I was mad at him.
One particularly bitchy blogger even called me out publicly for being a bad mom because of the nickname, saying on twitter that you can’t be a good mom if you don’t show respect to your children’s father. Talk about opening your mouth without having a clue.
About a year ago some of my husband’s friends gave him some good-natured shit about the nickname. I asked him if he wanted me to stop using it, and he said no.
Then, the other night, we were talking about my blog, a topic that rarely comes up. We started out talking about money, and what I’m worth as a writer, and he threw a few unexpected compliments my way. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “But could you stop calling me The Ass?”
So that’s it. No more The Ass. I’d like to introduce you to my husband, Omer.