"Cash or credit, ma'am." said the grocery store cashier.
"Credit." I said.
"Excuse me, ma'am." asked the man in line next to me.
"Yes."
"Where did you get that hat?"
I was wearing my husband's MBA baseball-style hat. Apparently it's great at attracting the attention of strange men who insist on talking to me in the grocery store line.
"Uh, my husband." I replied.
But I was thinking...damn. Why did I just get ma'am-ed TWICE in the last two minutes? Have these ma-am-a-holics stolen my ID and know that I'm about to turn thirty?
That was two weeks ago. And the "ma'am-ing" has not seemed to decrease.
Would I prefer "miss"? No. Who wants to feel like a little girl? How about "sugar"? Nope. Not any better. But still better than getting "ma-am-ed" every five seconds. Don't you think?
What's a gal to do on her 30th birthday eve?
I turn the big 3-0 in a matter of hours, and I'm not entirely sure how I feel about it. I had envisioned feeling "grown-up" (whatever that truly means...) or really focused...or...something. Anything? Maybe this birthday isn't such a momentous occasion, after all.
Anyway, let's forget about my ma'am paranoia and my ambivalent birthday girl attitude.
Champagne, anyone?