“MY Ritz?!”

The following are unrelated, and the second is the sweeter of the stories. Here you are, though.

 

Because my name is Maritza, but I go by Ritz, it’s something really special when people call me by my given name. Yeah, we’ve established that. Well back in high school, when I dated a giant goofy white boy who played guitar (BIG SURPRISE) he couldn’t quite say Maritza, but still wanted to be special. So when he wrote me notes, (hello, high school, what else was there to do, learn?!) he adrressed them to “MYritza.” Adorbs. Thought I was gonna marry that man. Glad I didn’t, but still adorbs.

 

Oh-kay! But this one is REALLY cute.

So, Mrs Z (mother of the squeezies) came and visited this weekend. When she was leaving, the older squeezy had trouble letting her go. Something to the tune of:

“Where are you going?”

“To see my friend.”

“What’s your friend’s name?”

(They usually call me Tia, so she hopes this will fly) “Ritz.”

“MY RITZ?!”

“Yes, sweetie.”
“I WANT TO GO!!!!!”

::weeping and gnashing of teeth::

“Sweetie, you just can’t come this time.”

“Okay, but at least tell her I love her!”

 

MELT MY TIA HEART!! You bet I AM her Ritz! I love those little squeezies. It’s good they know I’m theirs. :)

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