I hate being called “ma’am.” Yes, I know “hate” is a strong word and leaves a bad taste in some people’s mouths. So, I ask these folks, what would you prefer? Abhor? Detest? Loathe? Despise? Insert your preferred word, but I’m going to stick with “hate.” Because I do.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I understand that those who utter it (as well as “sir”) do so out of respect, and kudos to their parents for instilling within their children manners and respect because, Lord knows, there is a huge shortage of manners in today’s world (a topic best left for another rant.)
Anyway, back to “ma’am.”
What would I rather be called? Oh, how about ANYTHING else: “miss” or “mizz”, perhaps? “Madam”, maybe (even though I don’t own a brothel.) Even “sir”, “bro”, or “dude” is preferable to “ma’am”. As someone who is deep in the throes of a midlife crisis that has been ongoing for, oh, 13 years, anything that makes me uber cognizant of the fact that I am, despite my utter contempt for the word, middle-aged needn’t be said. Ever.
I’m doing a fantastic job of fighting this whole aging thing. Seriously, I am. Not only do I not look my age, I neither feel nor act it, thanks to a (mostly) healthy diet, regular exercise, no smoking, no drinking, no drugs, outstanding skin care, and good genes. I oftentimes pass for late 30’s-early 40’s, and this removes a bit of the sting from being called “ma’am” and my ever-increasing age.
Oh, by the way, I’m looking for a fake ID that makes me 34 again, so if anyone knows anyone in the “creative printing” business, please let me know.
The Irate Blogger 