I got ma’am’ed twice today. I know it has happened before, but when your belly is so big you don’t trust yourself shaving your legs and the only shoes that fit are Converse sneakers you get a little sensitive. I got one from the maintenance man in my parking garage (I swear he used to Miss me) and one at Starbucks (usually I get a Love from the Irish girl but she wasn’t there today).
When I tried to complain about it later my work associates rolled their eyes and pointed to my wedding band (a substitute, the original doesn’t fit) and the baby in my belly. “Yes” I insisted “but what about my unlined forehead and impish expression?” They rolled their eyes again.
What a cruel foul fate that we don’t care about being perceived as youthful until we’re not. Just a few months ago, I was complaining about not being taken seriously at my job because I look too young. If I believed in God or Karma or fate I would feel uncomfortable about that conversation now, post-ma’am. I think I was bullshitting myself too, because I work in advertising. In this industry youthfulness is a sign of cool, and cool is more valuable than experience and respect. I just happen to be in the ad niche where looking too young is a more obvious sign that you probably don’t know what you’re talking about, which in my case is often true. During my short stint on the creative side, Stupid Kid was King. That’s why I’m still perversely drawn to novelty tee-shirts and blogs.
Anyway, I just had to vent. As I write this I’m realizing that ma’am isn’t the worst thing that could happen to me- personally or professionally. At least now when I get a parking ticket I can pay for it myself instead of calling my Dad-or my brother when my Dad was out of town. I earned my ma’am. I had a bunch of annoying jobs and boyfriends and destructive habits and now I’m a well-functioning contributing member of society. I donate to NPR, I can feed myself, and if a ma’am comes along with that I can live with it.
