Let Me Call You Volvo

By Roger Rosenblatt

Everything changes except that which ought to. The examples of the day are terms of endearment. They never change. What your grandfather called your grandmother, your mother called your dad; and there you are, cooing on the couch, saying the same moronic words to Him or Her: Darling, Honey, Cupcake, Sweets. How easily they spill, the junk food of language--chocolate cremes, mocha centers--not a sensible idea in the box. When Michelle Triola sued Lee Marvin for palimony several years ago, her lawyer had to prove to the court that Marvin did indeed love Michelle. The lawyer produced a letter from Marvin that closed: "Hey baby, hey baby, hey baby, hey baby, hey baby, hey baby."

"What did you mean by that?" demanded the lawyer.

"I can't explain," answered Lee.

Not that this nonsense is without pattern or order. Of terms of endearment there seem to be five main types: animal, edible, ethereal, infantile and strange. Animal terms include Lamb or Lambkins, Ducks, Mouse, Bear and the popular Pussycat. Among the edibles are Pumpkin, Apple Dumpling and an unhealthy variety of baked goods. Ethereal: Angel. Infantile: Babe, Baby, Baby Doll. Among the strange are combinations of the above, such as Lambie Pie, Honey Bear and Poopsie, a possible reference to fatigue. There are also physically or emotionally descriptive terms such as Hot Lips, Heartthrob, Hunk and Cuddles. All of which have taken up residence in the language in both conversation and song, as in the distinguished lyric: "When my Sugar walks down the street/ All the little birdies go tweet, tweet, tweet."

These categories appear to crop up in different languages as well. The French call their dear ones cabbages, rabbits and casseroles. The Italians, little eggs. Nigerians refer to lovers as tigers, which is understandable, and as bedbugs, which are evidently cuter in Nigeria than they are elsewhere. The Chinese use the term little dog, and the Germans, little treasure. Littleness is the key to many of these expressions. For some reason the tendency in the language of love is to make less of the object of one's affections; it is quite common in most languages to add a diminutive suffix to a name (in Russian, ya, in Greek, oula, in Irish, een) so as to express fond feelings. Psychologists might suggest that the purpose of these diminutions is to assert the superiority of lover to loved one ("my pet"), but the effect diminishes all parties. We have created these words as verbal comforters, warm safety zones, wherein anyone, no matter how high and mighty, is free to sound like a nitwit.

Thus did Henry VIII write a letter to Anne Boleyn, wishing himself "in my Sweethearts Armes whose pritty Duckys I trust shortly to kiss." This was before Anne and her duckys were sent to the Tower of London. Napoleon once chastised Josephine with: "You're a naughty, gawky, foolish Cinderella." Beethoven addressed his mysterious "Immortal Beloved" as "My angel, my all, my very self," and Chekhov began notes to Olga Knipper, his bride-to-be, with: "Doggie, my dear puppy," "My dear little nincompoop," and "My dear, wonderful Knipschitz"--a term that never gained wider usage. President Harding's mistress told him one day: "I love you, darling Warren Harding," thus creating a term of endearment from a proper name, though in an improper circumstance. When the mistress expressed the wish that the two of them could be alone, the President is reported to have replied: "Gee, I do too, dearie!"

Do you suppose it would be possible to come up with more sophisticated words to bespeak our affection for one another? It would not be necessary to create excessively intellectual terms, such as Hegel Face, but our wooing language might at least keep pace with the times. Could not technology, for instance, afford new terms of endearment: my Modem, my User Friendly, Compatible you? Or political terms: Hold me, Neo-Liberal; Come here, you Right-Wing Nut.

Even something as sobering as the arms race could add immeasurably to the language of love: Oh, Titan; Ah, Trident. ("Minuteman" might present some problems.) GLCMs (ground-launched cruise missiles) and SLCMs (sea-launched cruise missiles) are called Glickems and Slickems by those in the know. As terms of endearment, Glickems and Slickems sound no less cozy than Huggums and Snookums, and have the advantage of belonging to an adult, albeit explosive, world.

One would think that the Yuppies would have provided new terms of endearment by now, those commensurate with their pleasures and ambitions. Why would a fast-rising young stockbroker today wish to address his beloved as Cookie, when it should be far more endearing to call her his Pesto, or better, his Preferred Bond? Would not he in turn rather be known by his corporation- lawyer lady friend as Feelin' Good or Health Club? ("I know it's mad, but I want you, Diet Coke.") There might be new song lyrics at last: "Let me call you Volvo/ I'm in love with you." Show tunes might be revised: "A hundred and one/ Pounds of fun/ That's my Condo Mini Um."

But all this is quite unlikely. We will never abandon the old terminology, no matter how inane. For one thing, words like Precious and Chickadee may sound silly, but they are indispensable when one has forgotten the name of the person to whom affection is expressed. For another, they remove formality from convivial situations. "Good night, Harold," sounds considerably cooler than "Bedtime, Bear." Then, too, these words work excellently as shorthand palliatives: But Cuddles . . . , but Strudel. In The Maltese Falcon, Humphrey Bogart called Mary Astor "Sweetheart" as he informed her that she was about to be sent to the chair. The news was disappointing, but the word must have softened the shock.

Still, the principal reason for hanging on to these terms is that people in love generally are silly people, so it is only fitting that they sound as silly as possible. Such silliness will be on display in abundance this Valentine's Day, when Dearests and Darlings will once again spread like nougat over the continents, and the world will heave and deflate in one vast swoonish sigh. So concludes this Essay, at which point all are requested to stop reading, except for you, of course, my Flower, my Twinkie, you for whom all words are written by your Squeezums who pines for you and prays that you soon will be