So…(INSERT THE NAME OF THE MAN I PROMISED MY LIFE TO–pictured here on our wedding day, reading the letter I wrote him and having his last cigarette as a bachelor)…yes, him, well…he has decided he doesn’t want his “real name” used on the blog. We were out on the (very cold) patio this morning drinking our tea, and–
Him: It’s just weird. I’ve got people googling me.
Me: Like who? That wackadoo girl from high school?
Him: No, not her. Clients. I have clients who google me. They don’t need to know my whole life.
(He takes a long drag of his cigarette.)
Me: Hmm…I would think your green thumb would impress these “clients.”
Him: They’re in Asia.
Me: What? People in Asia don’t like plants?
Him: Seriously, babe. Please.
Now, the task is to find a name to call (INSERT THE NAME OF THE MAN I PROMISED MY LIFE TO). I’m thinking “The Smoker.” It’s got a nice ring to it. As in: The Smoker wants to take me to Tahiti for my birthday; The Smoker and I once again donned fake mustaches; The Smoker wants a boy; The Smoker thinks I’m nuts. Thoughts?