Someone asked me, by email, why I refer to my estranged husband as “Walkaway Bob”.
One thing my mother did was pass down to me her penchant for having nicknames for every human and/or animal in her life. Hence my horse has several nicknames – The Blonde Bombshell, Babygirl, The Girl, and, when I’m not pleased with her behavior – You Old Heifer.
My son’s nickname is Baby Bear. My daughter in law’s nickname is Bonus Baby Bear. My oldest brother is the only person on the planet who is allowed to call me Missy, and my Dad is the only one allowed to call me Sister.
You get the picture. I’m all about some nicknames. Nicknames just come easily from the “persona” of the being.
And so it is with Bob.
It’s not an understatement to say that for a few weeks in April and May, 2017, my nicknames for him were vulgar profanities. I’m sure you can imagine …
But then one day during that time, I was driving somewhere and Trisha Yearwood came on my radio. By the time the song was over, Bob had a new nickname:
Alone in the silence she wakes up too soon
And reaches for his arms
But she’ll just keep reaching on
For the cold hard truth revealed what it had known
That boy’s just a Walkaway Joe
Born to be a leaver tell you from the word go
Destined to deceive her
He’s the wrong kind of paradise
But it was just another lesson in life
That boy was a Walkaway Joe