Ma’am is a 4-Letter Word

this is me putting together the new beds - see, I'm still cool

Well, I had another birthday.  My husband and I have the exact same birthday so it helps a little to know that he is just as old as I am.  However, as I endure celebrate turning a year older, I must admit that I do not appreciate being called “ma’am” by those in their 20s.

The part of me that knows I am still fairly young understands that most of the “ma’ams” come from good ol’ Southerners as a sign of respect, and that is sweet and appropriate; BUT, the old half of me wants to smack the kids for daring to hint that I am older than they are (the fact that I just referred to these people as “kids” shows that I may, in fact, actually be as old as I feel).

Just yesterday on my actual birthday, I went shopping for new beds for our older children (yes, that’s my definition of partying now).  I wanted to test out a mattress that was on the top of a bunk bed and so I climbed up, while fervently thanking the Lord that I have a tiny build because I was positive that thing would come crashing down had I weighed just one more pound.  The test came as I prepared to climb down.

I was absolutely petrified.  I just knew that I was going to meet my untimely death (or at the bare minimum, break a precious hip) at the fate of a shoddily put together bunk bed.  It literally took me about 2 minutes to get the courage and agility to finish climbing down the 3 rungs back to safety 2 feet below me.  I made a joke to the sales “kid” about being nervous on the bunk bed and he mentioned that it is scary when you get older.

Wait a second! Did he just call me old?  I asked him that very question.  He quickly backtracked and tried to make it out like we were the same age and he also used to be a lot more daring when he was younger.  So, apparently he now was old at the ripe age of 22 and I am now feeling ancient.   I enjoy a good teasing now and then, especially if someone is making me confront my elderliness, so I let him continue to open his mouth and insert his foot for a few more seconds before I told him I would still purchase the mattresses.  He’s lucky they had a good deal on them.

In the end, I can laugh about it because I know I’m not that old…but I still cringe thinking about where I will be in 10 years.  My body is definitely older than my actual age (and my mind is even older than that – it’s called dementia, er, wisdom).  Oh well, there’s always hair dye and face transplants and enjoying wearing a bathrobe and slippers to the store.  And there’s always the fun in making kids feel like they have really stepped in it when they call me ‘Ma’am”…nothing but good times ahead.


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