Wednesday, 25 May 2011
My boyfriend and I have made up our own language. Call it disgustingly romantic or totally lame – but it exists, nevertheless. I'm not completely sure when the birth of the language came about, but we have been speaking it for about two years now. It's not baby talk – because I hate baby talk, but that's probably the closest way I can come to describing it. That, combined with a southern twang that the two of us have picked up for these purposes. I once complained to him about those horrible "baby talkers" and his answer was "You are one." I refuted the accusation whole-heartedly, but that doesn't mean we sound any less crazy.
Whenever my mom hears me on the phone with my boyfriend, she rolls her eyes and kicks me out of the room. The "voice" sickens her. It would probably sicken me, too. What usually happens is I make fun of "relationshippy people" until I'm in a relationship. Then, when people are grossed out by me and my boyfriend the way I was once grossed out by others, I find myself saying things like "Oh, stop it" and "Wait until you fall in love." I know, I know. Ew.
It's kind of like when someone on the train sneezes three times in a row and I'm willing them with my mind to leave the vicinity immediately because the nastiness is too much for me. And then the following week I'm the one sneezing like a madwoman and wondering why people are giving me such looks of disgust. I'm aware of how hypocritical that all is. The double standards and condescension are killing me, too.
I laugh when I think about the episode of Seinfeld when Jerry and his girlfriend-at-the-time, Sheila, call each other "Shmoopy" and everyone around them is horrified. They say things like, "Bye, Shmoopy. No, you're Shmoopy. No, you. No, you" and rub noses. We're not that bad; okay, okay, except for the rubbing noses thing. It's funny to see George's reaction to the nicknames and cutesy voices. It's basically a combination of disgust, discomfort, and horror.
Besides my family being totally disgusted by me, another bad part of having your own private language is that I often catch myself answering either my boyfriend (or, ahh! other people) in my "voice" in public! I'll be on the train and catch myself calling him one of the 10+ nicknames I've invented for him. It's hardly even noticeable for me, considering I casually slip into my other voice and language so easily; it's the looks I get from people that cause me to realize what I've been doing. You know, the "I'm just gonna sit over here now, away from the crazy girl" looks. Then again, maybe I should continue embarrassing myself. It is nice to have my own section on the train....