Please Don’t Call Me That, I’m Not That Old

I’m so proud of myself. I just made a menu and grocery list for an entire week! That has never happened before in my life.

Unless you count planning for Thanksgiving as planning for a week. It makes enough food for a week.

Today’s Exploit:

Have I ever mentioned that I hate being called Ma’am?

Well I do.

And I can’t get away from it.

Everyone and their dog says Ma’am automatically here.

I can handle Darlin’ and even don’t hate Baby-doll, but Ma’am…

When I first started working here it made me still want to jump out of a tall, tall window. Since it happens 48 million times a day, I’ve learned to tolerate it. To the point that I only grit my teeth. Every so often I try to ask the rig hands not to Ma’am me. It goes something like this:

Them: …, Ma’am.

Me: Please don’t call me Ma’am.

Them: Yes, Ma’am

Me: BIG sigh.

It’s on my hate list right below the heat. And just above the 60 mph wind when I try to play Ultimate Frisbee.