Most longtime couples have private names for each other. Sometimes these names slip out in the presence of others, in times of stress, exhilaration, or PR spin, or after everybody's had a few drinks. My friends Anita and Jim call each other Frank. George W. and Laura, as their daughters announced to the world during the Republican National Convention, call each other Bushie. A dog-loving couple who will be nameless here because I need to remain on speaking terms with them call each other Wooda (that's a phonetic rendering) and Wooba, short for "Wonder Dog" and "Wonder Bitch." My friend Robin calls her husband, whose name is Richard, Lord Voldemort, a.k.a. "He Who Must Not Be Named." That's when she's not calling him Wally (this is a good story, but a long one).

And my husband and me? Since you asked, we call each other "my pet" or Pet. "Pet, would you turn the music down?" "Yes, Pet." As a, um, pet name, it's minimalist (our aesthetic), it's egalitarian, and it's entertaining--to us, at any rate. Partly for fun and partly to keep straight which of us we're talking about, we have variant names as well. For instance, if we are visiting California or drinking Sonoma Valley wine, Julian (that's his real name) is Petaluma.

We have many variants, and the list of them keeps growing, but you get the idea.

As far as I can tell, people don't wake up one morning, realize they need a pet name for their inamorata(o), and set about choosing one, as if they had a baby to name. And while insight into matters of the heart can often be found in literature, surprisingly few great lovers in great novels have private names for each other. Consider Leo Tolstoy's Anna Karenina. She calls Alexei Vronsky, the man for whom she gave up everything, simply, Alexei. For his part, Vronsky lavishes endearments like "darling" and "my sweet" on his favorite horse, Frou-Frou, but rarely does he call his mistress anything other than Anna.

Mr. Knightley, in Jane Austen's Emma, is a bit more demonstrative: Once the couple are engaged, the words "Emma, my love," pass his lips. But when he asks her, "And cannot you call me 'George' now?" she replies: "Impossible! I never can call you any thing but 'Mr. Knightley.' I will not promise even to equal the elegant terseness of Mrs. Elton, by calling you Mr. K."

And we, or at least I, cheer Emma on. If she called him "Georgy-porgy," or whatever one evening, I wouldn't respect her in the morning. Well, Anna Karenina and Emma don't have any sex scenes either. Pet names, like sex, are usually best left to consenting adults to do with as they will in private.