The sound of someone calling me “love” is normally music to my ears, or “my love”, if they really want to elevate it. There is sustenance in these demonstrative words, usually delivered with understated charm. Not everyone can get away with it. It may come more easily to those who have grown up with terms of endearment in their familial vocabulary.
I cannot remember the last time my parents used the name they gave me, rather than “sweetheart”, “pigeon”, or, if my father is particularly peppy, “pigeon pie”. My husband only calls me “sunshine”. If he does use my actual name, I stop what I am doing and look him in the eye to see what’s wrong. Our eldest…