Say Onion

"Say Onion."

"Ornion."

He, he, he, I love the way Sam says it.

"What month is between yours and mine?

"Ourgust."

I love the way he says that too. Gorgeous. It warms my heart. It makes me adore him just a little bit more every time he speaks.

I made him say onion every day last week, surreptitiously, he didn't catch on. It was my own, private joy. It was only when we were waiting for Mark and Luke outside the Grill'd healthy burger bar in Lygon Street on Saturday night, before heading in to see Catfish, that I fessed up to my little ruse.

He sees it as me making fun of him... which I'm not. Not at all! I adore his accent.

He sees it as being made fun of because he pronounces things differently to others, to Aussies.

Now, of course, he says onion and August and bewdy mate, thumb in the air, like anyone else.

I only had to point it out to him once and he's Aussied up.

And I'm horrified. Why didn't I keep my mouth shut? What was I thinking?