Wow. The ex-girlfriend featured in the "pet names" essay from the New York Times publishes a response, and it isn't pretty:

I originally glanced right past the word.

Froky? In the paper? Typo. Froky isn't in the newspaper. Froky isn't even a public word. It's a private word, our...shit.

My stomach flooded with acid. It was "Froky." Our most intimate pet word. Right there in black and white on the front page of Sunday Styles. I turned to the "Modern Love" section, and it hit me. My ex-boyfriend had gotten his first byline in the newspaper of record with an essay about me, him and our shared past. I had had no warning whatsoever from either him or the Times. Adding insult to injury, the article was accompanied by an illustration of me: as a grotesquely oversized, adultly breasted infant girl, arms and legs spread wide while a little boy frantically filed away at iron bars to make a prison break from a heart shaped metal cage.

Hmmm, yes, I can see why that might be a little troubling. In any case, it's always nice to see the muse fight back.