Yes Ma'am

Earrings and Purse: Versona, Shoes: Jessica Simpson, Jumpsuit: Forever 21, Ring: Kendra Scott

It's haaaaaaaaappening. I knew it would. I knew it was time. I half expected it. I saw it happen to other people. Who am I to be the exception to the rule??!!! I mean... I live down South and I am 38 years old. I.KNEW.IT.WAS.COMING.

I'm being called MA'AM.

A lot.
Often.
In various places, by EVERYONE. Men, women, boys, girls. Servers at restaurants, boys at the car wash, young women I start chatting with at the gym, bartenders, and bank tellers. Now, don't get me wrong. I have NOTHING against aging. It's a beautiful privilege denied to far too many. I am taking care of myself, and I actually feel (and maybe even look) better than I did 10 years ago.

Age creeps up on you like a silent, stealth, elusive, whisper, though, and maaaaaaan... Father Time is undefeated. The first few times it happened I was shocked. I started looking over my shoulder and then behind me for someone 25-30 years older.

I don't know why I am surprised though. I just attended my 20 year high school class reunion. YUP. I've been out of HS for 20 years. Also... the week before said reunion, I slept wrong and pulled something in my back. You read that correctly. I slept and pulled something. I woke up in physical pain because I slept wrong. When I was younger I could sleep for 3 hours, on the floor of a car,  with my shoes on, using my forearm for a pillow, wake up feeling like a zillion dollars, and eat Doritos for breakfast. Not anymore. If my pillow is too flat it FKS me up for a week.

Anyone fitting that description is most definitely a "ma'am".

There's just a part of me that is in denial. I mean.... I listen to hip-hop (loudly), I'm a Democrat, I drive a fast car that is not the least bit practical. I still say "righty tighty, lefty Lucy". I have 6 tattoos. I can't sew a button. I call my mom when I'm sick. Sometimes, I contemplate throwing away Tupperware because I just don't want to wash it. (If that's not some teenage shit, I don't know what is.) I don't understand W2s, W4s, or 1099s. I wear polkadot jumpsuits for GAWD'S SAKE.

I thought getting older meant listening to talk radio (well... I do love me some NPR), voting conservative, getting a practical automobile, knowing your right from your left, knitting, and understanding taxes??? And most certainly it meant saying NO to head-to-toe, enormous, obnoxious, polka dots on your ass.  Apparently not. Apparently, you can do all of those things and STILL get old.

Not that long ago I was walking down the street, coming from teaching a private Pilates lesson in uptown Charlotte. I'm in yoga pants, a tank top, sneakers, my hair is up like this, and I am carrying a yoga mat. I am walking towards a group of 5-6 boys ranging in age from 15/16 to 18/19 or so. I say "Hey guys" as I walk by. As I am passing them, one in the back turns around, raises his voice and says to me....

"Damn, girl.... you still got it!!!".

Ummmmmmmm. Excuse me? What the what??? "Still got it???" "STILL????" At first I was offended. Like, how the FK old do you think I am??? Then... it hit me. Old enough to be their mother. That's how old.

It's cool though. Life is MUCH better for me at this stage than it ever has been and I feel good. So... if I'm being called Ma'am, I guess I'll take it.

And to the boys who informed me that I "still got it". We are cool. No hard feelings. Just stay off my damn lawn, and don't go lighting fireworks after 10pm. I'll be in bed, with my $50 pillow that adjusts to and supports my fragile cervical spine.