Don't Call Me Ma'am!

Somewhere between my size 8 clothes and my aversion to low rise jeans it happened. I became a ma’am. As in,

 “Here’s your change, Ma’am”.

“Don’t forget your Benefiber, Ma’am!”

And “Excuse me, Ma’am? Your daughter just shoved that entire balloon up her nose? Is that safe?”

Of course it's not safe you moron! And don’t call me Ma’am!

Really, please don’t call me ma’am.

I simply don’t feel old enough for that.

Yes, I have gained weight. I blame that on the six kids that I had. (Shhh..don’t tell that I adopted. I blame them for anything and everything when I can get away with it!)

Yes, I have perpetual bags under my eyes from going 16 straight years without a good night’s sleep.

Yes I have trading my long, high maintenance hair and fashionable pumps for a wash-and-go style and comfortable shoes.

But really, ma’am? Me?

Ugh!