I miss 'Miss'

I don't know when it happened but I'm officially a 'ma'am.' I guess I've been one for a while but in my fervent desire to ignore any indication of aging, I lied to myself time and time again. "Oh, that sweet young checker must be speaking to someone else" had become my mantra of youth preservation. And it's been working, quite well too I might add. Until a couple of months ago, just shy of my 50th birthday, when I was visiting my 14-year-old niece.

I took Hayley to Buffalo Exchange, a hip, second-hand vintage clothing store I covet, even as the term "age-appropriate" worms its way into my consciousness. The sales girl (note to self: the fact that I refer to retail employees as 'girls' now instead of women should've been a big red flag) came over to us as we were pawing through a rack of sexy Juicy Couture tees and said, "Excuse me, miss, can I help you find anything?" and looked straight at my niece.

Then she turned to me and said, "Ma'am, we have a waiting area if you'd like to rest while your daughter shops." The nerve! I was about to tell her just what I thought about her assumptions when the mountain of slinky tanks and tight t-shirts I had precariously balanced on my arm slid to the ground.

"Jeez!" the sales girl exclaimed, as she tried to catch the falling merchandise. "Why don't I put these in a dressing room for your daughter to try on when she's ready?"

"They're for me," I said dryly.

"Okaaaaay," she drawled, looking right past me, perfectly shaped eyebrows arched, to her coworker who was smirking in the corner. "Of course they are!" she added, each word slow and meticulous as if speaking to a child. I swear she winked.

"Nevermind," I sighed, handing over the remaining items still drapped on my arm. "I'll be out in the car," I told Hayley and marched out of the store in mature indignation.

That's when I realized that if being a 'ma'am' meant I had to start thinking about clothes as age-appropriate, I'd rather be called 'sir.'