This is a note to all of you young service people (usually boys). You know who you are. The ones who bag my groceries, check out people at Office Max, workers at Target asking me if I am finding everything okay. Yeah, you. I'm talking to you. I know that I may have a few laugh lines, my boobs may no longer be in the upper-half of my chest, and I drive a mini-van, but I am only 31 years old. I am not old enough to be your mother. I don't wear clothes from the old lady section yet. Nevertheless, it seems that lately, even when I don't have my 5 children trailing behind, leaving a wake of destruction in our path, that you have the audacity to call me "Ma'am". You should know that every time you do that, it makes me want to hurt you. A little tear escapes my eye when I get into the mini-van I swore I'd never drive. Then I go home and run another two miles on my abused treadmill. I pull out my college ID card and wonder what happened to that girl. So please, for the sake of my sanity, from now on, it's "Miss" -- not "Ma'am". Thank you.
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Well Miss Kazmierski...I try to look at it that at least most of them aren't wearing their pants by their ankles and they do look me in the eye...although yes I still feel like I should be the one calling someone ma'am not the other way around...arg!
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