Crossing the Ma'am Line

I went out to lunch with some friends recently. Our waiter was a very bright young thing -- the kind of girl who obviously has a clue. However, there was one thing she was way clueless about: the effect of the word "ma'am" on women of a certain age.

I think it must be similar to the effect of cold water on a penis. Just guessing on that front, but I can assure you there's a certain degree of deflation when someone "ma'am"s you. Getting "ma'am"ed is a little like being punched in the gut. It is definitely an act of violence - even if it is perpetrated by the meekest little servo-bot.

Note to reader (hey mom): as you may remember, I started going gray in my 20s and and didn't bother to start coloring my hair until I was in my 40s, so it may have started especially early for me. Which may explain why it was such a shock in the beginning - but does not explain why it continues to be so disturbing.

I remember when I started to get "ma'am"ed on a regular basis. At first it is just plain disorienting. You look behind you for the old lady. Then you realize you ARE the old lady. And you want to slap the little freak who has dared to "ma'am" you. Then you realize that it is the polite ones who do this, out of some misguided wish to show respect or get a tip.

Which, in my case anyway, just inspires me to try and educate them. One Acme cashier - a gangly youth of 19 or so - upon being congratulated for NOT calling me "ma'am" (he "missed" me - what a sweetie, huh? Gotta reward good behavior...), explained that he calls women who are accompanied by men "ma'am" in recognition of their probable marital status. I didn't have a man in tow that day, hence I didn't get the "ma'am" treatment from him. What a little scholar, eh?

But how many of the rug rats calling me ma'am are thinking about my marital status? More likely, they are subconsciously responding to my crone-hood - albeit prematurely. Actually - to put it as bluntly as it can be said - they are calling me emminently unf*ckable. "You are way past your prime, lady," they're insinuating. "If you're not already in the gene pool, you never will be," they snort. "Do you really need that air you're breathing?" they ask.

Ok, maybe it's not that bad. But as my friends and I explained to the bright young thing who waited on us at lunch, the effect is not pleasant. "One day you'll understand," we told her. "But in the meantime - find something else to call those female customers you've been "ma'am"ing."

'm out.