I swear it happened over night. I went to bed Monday night and Tuesday morning I woke up and…oh god I can’t even say it. But it happened. There’s no denying it. And I’m not even sure I can fight it. But I’m gonna try my hardest. I’m not ready to throw in the towel just yet. Hell no. It’s a matter of survival. Of pride. It’s only right and it’s only fair that I get a little more time of not being…
A ma’am.
I’ll be anything else. I’ll be a ‘Miss’; a ‘Hey you’; ‘wench’ even.
Anything but a ma’am.
I’m sure I’ve been called a ma’am before; I am after all one week away from turning 34. But the other day it happened and it was different. It was real. Her eyes meant it. Her expression meant it. Her attitude was genuine.
I was a ma’am to her.
This girl, this conniving evil soulless bitch, had turned to me as I stood, holding my daughter and said the following heartless words--
“Can I help you ma’am?”
What? Ma’am? Who? Me?
Oh no. I don’t think so (head weaving back and forth, one hand on hip, other snapping in the air, eyebrows arched).
But it was. It was me.
The truth is I’ve had my suspicions about a few things lately. Suspicions that have led me to consider something so horrible, so unthinkable that I have to have a glass of wine to calm my frazzled nerves.
Because I think...
I am getting old.
I am becoming a ma'am.
For instance, I’m pretty sure that a pair of jeans I just bought are… (oh shit just say it!) mom jeans.
Sniff sniff.
As for my other clothes I find that I’ve come to prefer comfort over style. Sure I still want to be stylish but it’s somehow not as important as it used to be. If it’s not comfortable, able to be machine washed, or stain resistant you probably won’t find me wearing it.
If you speed by me and my daughter in the parking lot you’ll feel my wrath (well you probably won’t because your going too fast to see my glare and your music’s too loud to hear my yell.)
Let’s see what else.
I don’t ‘understand’ or like the music that kids listen to and when they swear around me I’m offended (I won’t go into it but this makes me a huge hypocrite).
My husband and I have conversations about things like wills, life insurance policies, retirement plans. It’s practical sure, but it’s also…old people topics.
I’m concerned AND interested in things like probiotics, sunscreen, composting and VOC’s.
I’m too tired for sex most nights.
And…perhaps worse of all.
The other day my husband and I were walking through a store and as we passed the women's lingerie section my husband said, “Oh look! They do still make sexy underwear.”
Ha. Ha. Ha.
But I don’t think I can accept all the blame; though I am the only one who can conquer it*.
*It=ma’amness
I think my daughter is responsible for a lot of this. And my husband, cause if it wasn’t for his functioning sperm and his complete support in me being a SAHM. Then maybe…
Anyways.
I know neither one of them did this on purpose. My daughter has no idea that I’m a ma’am; to her I’m only mama. And my husband gave me the greatest gift of my life; even if he does make snide comments about my panties and sweat pants lifestyle.
So though I am going to fight this ma’am thing a little bit longer I’m okay with where I am in life. I’m not going to start wearing miniskirts, Britney Spears t-shirts, and dying my hair blond. I won’t go out and buy the latest crappy music. And I will not start watching The Hills so that I know who all these kids on the cover of the magazines are.
But I think I will dig out some of my hibernating sexy underwear. And maybe I’ll even put them on for a second or two after my daughter goes to bed.
Take THAT ma’amness!