Damnit. I got m'amed again.

I've been called "m'am" three times this week. The last time was a half hour ago, by the guy who handed me my pizza to go at the shop that's a block from my home. Being called "m'am" means you are officially no longer hot, if you ever were, except perhaps to French men, who are said to appreciate older women. Most days I feel attractive, and so the "m'am" thing doesn't bother me. But today, after getting only 3 hours' sleep last night, I do feel rather un-hot. Rather rampled. Slightly haggard. Ugh. 

I remember calling women "m'am" when I was in my 20s, and being sharply reprimanded.  Sheesh, I'd think. I was just trying to be polite. So I didn't snap at the young and handsome pizza guy tonight. I just smiled and took my box, turned on my heel and left, musing that I thought I'd been rather hiply dressed when I walked out of the front door to get dinner. 

The other night my husband saw a trailer for Brooke Shields' newish TV show, and he remarked "She looks really good, for her age." He nearly bled from the look I shot him. "What?" Then his face softened. "Ohhhhh. Yeah." Mmm-hmm. Not the best choice of words when you happen to have a wife who's seven years older than you are. He apologized with a hug, which I appreciated. But I did not feel kindred. As a man, my husband will not be faced with this particular issue until he's well into his 60s. Men are considered attractive years longer than women are.

It's lonely business mourning youth.