I’m in my ma’am era.

You never forget your first time.

The first time I was ma’amed, I was in my 30s, in a Starbucks in Westport, Connecticut. It was the afternoon, and I had walked down with some coworkers for an afternoon pick-me-up during a new business pitch. The barista finished my order, handed my drink to me and said, “Here you go, ma’am.”

Um, excuse me?

I walked away in a daze. I had been ma’amed. If you worked at the Westport, Connecticut Starbuck downtown around 2005, you made a very big impression on me. And not in a good way.

Was I old enough to be a ma’am in my early thirties? Did I LOOK like a ma’am? I’m on the short side, so I often hear that I appear younger than I actually am. Did that barista ma’am everyone and I was just lumped in with the general public? Did I look like the general public??

I chalked it up to a severe misjudgement on the barista’s part.

Shortly after that scarring experience, I was a grocery store and the lovely cashier handed me my receipt with a sweet, “Here you go, Miss.” And all was right in the world again.

I knew I couldn’t hold onto my Miss-dom forever. There would be a time when it just wasn’t feasible anymore: my crow’s feet would be too visible; my gray hair would give me away; I had that look of someone who has lived half a century and wasn’t taking any bullshit.

And that time has come.

This past summer I was picking up Little Mister from camp. The slew of camp counselors this year looked like they were barely out of middle school, let alone old enough to be responsible for 10 year olds. On a particularly hot July day, I rolled up to the pick up line and a young man approached my car.

“Hello, ma’am,” he said to me, proud of his politeness.

Now, his parents should be proud of how cordial he was. And there is a chance I looked slightly haggard after a day of meetings. When Little Mister came out and jumped into the car, the counselor shut the backseat door and leaned in my open passenger window to give me a wave and a little “Have a nice day, ma’am!” before I zipped up my window and peeled out of the parking lot.

I had been ma’amed not once, but TWO times. In the span of 5 minutes!

What was happening? After that horrific episode at camp pick up, I started hearing it everywhere people were talking to me: the airport, restaurants, delivery people! I was being ma’amed left and right.

It seemed I had transitioned to ma’am territory, and there was no going back.