I’m on the road! The laptop is in full action…on the top of my lap, in the car. Don’t worry…I’m not driving.
Right now, we’re traveling through the Virginia countryside and just passed through Charlottesville, home of the University of Virginia. The campus is gorgeous.
The University of Virginia was founded by Thomas Jefferson in 1819. I’ve been to Charlottesville once before, but school wasn’t in session. Today, however, there were students everywhere.
As I strolled through the campus square, someone called, “Excuse me…ma’am?”
Who, me? Did someone just call me ma’am? I didn’t care who said it, but instantly my mind thought… I’m not a ma’am…I’m a Miss! Ma’am sounds old.
I’ve been addressed as ma’am many times before. The first time it happened, the prefix was uttered in my direction by a grocery store checker. Poor boy. I glared at him with the evil eye and said, ‘You meant to call me Miss, right?” I was in my twenties then.
I realize that being called ma’am is a sign of respect. It’s the proper use of address for a married woman my age, especially in the South. However, I’m more flattered when someone calls me Miss. It’s sort of the same as being asked for I.D. at a bar.
Who, me? Did someone just ask for my I.D.? Sweet!