So, I experienced a turning point in my life this weekend, a pivotal event saved for momentous times like turning 40, your first child, or finding a $20 in your jeans - which is, by far, the best of all three. Disagree? Let me ask you this: do kids come out of you holding a big wad of money? No? Right. So I win.
Anyway, like most turning points in life, this one was masked by the mundane of an early Saturday morning. Sun coming up behind the buildings, dogs out for their early morning walks, and me, ready to start my day with a jolt of caffeine from my favorite Dunkin Donuts crew on the corner. I walk in, place my order, and patiently wait as they make my coffee.
And then it happened.
My heart stopped. My blood cooled. My brow furrowed. Ma’am? MA’AM?! When did that happen? I mean, I know I’ve been busy lately and all, and maybe I haven’t been paying as much attention as I should be to the time, and there was that one time a few weeks ago that I drank an extra glass of wine and stayed up too late, creating those weird crevices in my face from passing out face down on a scratchy pillow, but I surely haven’t entered the ma’am stage of the game…right?
I suppose I should also point out that the entire reason I just got aged 70 years is because I, perhaps, was still, allegedly, wearing what is an incredibly stylish, hot pink, velvet eye mask. On my forehead. But whatever.
Quit being so judge-y, readers. Like you’ve never left the house with a curler still in your hair when you got to work? (check) Or only one earring in? (check) Or two different shoes on? (totally normal. And check.)
Whatever. I’m a ma’am.