That (censored) called me Ma’am!

Not too long ago, I ran into the grocery store to pick up a gallon of milk and a few things for dinner. When I came back out, I was angry. I got in the car steaming. My husband asked me what was wrong. I looked at him angrily and said, “That little (censored) called me Ma’am!”

My husband is a smart man. He sat there for a few seconds looking at me, started the car, and headed home. He eventually tossed out the idea that maybe the little (censored) was just being polite. I know he was just being polite. I know, as a mother of daughters, that I should be happy that there are young men out there that are respectful and have manners. I know that I am (almost) old enough to be a ma’am, but I don’t like it. When did I stop being a sweetheart, or a cutie? What invisible door did I walk through that made me a ma’am?

I spent a few days thinking about and came up with a plan. I grabbed my ID and headed to the store. I walked in, looked around picked up a bottle of wine and headed to the checkout. I put the bottle on the counter and defiantly looked at the man behind the counter. He asked to see my ID. I left it in the car I told him and laughed. He looked at me closely. Sorry young lady, I can’t sell that to you without an ID. I grinned and handed it to him. As I left he told me to have a nice night. I did.