Looking Good, Babe
I must be getting old. Certain things bug me that didn’t use to. And certain things that use to bug me no longer do.
What set me on this particular train of thought was something that happened today in the parking lot at the grocery store. I had returned my cart to the little cart corral and was walking back to my car. A nice looking young guy was backing his shiny new Cadillac out of his parking space toward me and I stopped so he wouldn’t have to be concerned about hitting me. Okay, maybe I was the one who was concerned, even though he had plenty of room. But he braked and smiled at me and said, “Go ahead, babe.”
Babe. Not ma’am. Babe. I shot him my best killer smile and gave him an enthusiastic “Thank you!” What he didn’t realize is I wasn’t thanking him for being polite and letting me continue on my way. I was thanking him for calling me BABE.
Is that sad, or what? There was a time when my feminist ethics would have caused me to bristle at such a thing. Now, it totally makes my day. Those three pounds I lost must really be making a difference!
There is a check out guy at the local Pets Mart that calls me “miss” when he rings up my order. I always try to get in his line.
Then there’s the other side of the coin. And it all comes down to one phrase that stirs homicidal tendencies in my soul. “You look really good for your age.”
Of course, it’s not the looking really good part. It’s the “for your age” thing. And it’s usually spoken with a kind of breathless amazement.
Hey, folks. I either look good or I don’t. Do not qualify it according to my year of birth.
I hate to admit it, but in the past I’ve used this looking good for your age line on other people. To all of you, I deeply apologize. Slap me. Throw rotten tomatoes. I deserve it. But I promise it won’t happen again. Now I understand. With age comes wisdom.
Oops, I didn’t just say that, did I? Oh, well. Wisdom or not, I’m a babe today.
What set me on this particular train of thought was something that happened today in the parking lot at the grocery store. I had returned my cart to the little cart corral and was walking back to my car. A nice looking young guy was backing his shiny new Cadillac out of his parking space toward me and I stopped so he wouldn’t have to be concerned about hitting me. Okay, maybe I was the one who was concerned, even though he had plenty of room. But he braked and smiled at me and said, “Go ahead, babe.”
Babe. Not ma’am. Babe. I shot him my best killer smile and gave him an enthusiastic “Thank you!” What he didn’t realize is I wasn’t thanking him for being polite and letting me continue on my way. I was thanking him for calling me BABE.
Is that sad, or what? There was a time when my feminist ethics would have caused me to bristle at such a thing. Now, it totally makes my day. Those three pounds I lost must really be making a difference!
There is a check out guy at the local Pets Mart that calls me “miss” when he rings up my order. I always try to get in his line.
Then there’s the other side of the coin. And it all comes down to one phrase that stirs homicidal tendencies in my soul. “You look really good for your age.”
Of course, it’s not the looking really good part. It’s the “for your age” thing. And it’s usually spoken with a kind of breathless amazement.
Hey, folks. I either look good or I don’t. Do not qualify it according to my year of birth.
I hate to admit it, but in the past I’ve used this looking good for your age line on other people. To all of you, I deeply apologize. Slap me. Throw rotten tomatoes. I deserve it. But I promise it won’t happen again. Now I understand. With age comes wisdom.
Oops, I didn’t just say that, did I? Oh, well. Wisdom or not, I’m a babe today.
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