Remember a couple of days ago when I was talking about embracing my age and being proud of my newly found gray hair? Well, it took me a few days to realize this, but it was all a lie.
This is how I found out.
On Wednesday night, a friend and I went to the Loveless Cafe for a live music show called Music City Roots. It’s a great place to hear several different up and coming acts at once, and I was there for just that purpose. I knew the band Alanna Royale would be performing and I had planned on writing an article about them for the paper.
At one point that evening I was speaking to the lead singer, who is also named Alanna. We exchanged back and forth regarding what the band had coming up, their album release next month, and their excitement over playing Bonaroo in June.
With many of my questions, Alanna would answer with an enthusiastic, “Yes ma’am.” I shook off the first one, but the second and third really started to sting. I thought, “Why is she calling me ma’am? I mean, I’m clearly just an average thirty-three year old girl like everyone else here.”
I drove home after the show white-knuckled. My car couldn’t go slow enough around the curves and I lurched onto the break at every yellow light. I kept trying to figure out why I was driving so nervously. I’m not used to driving long distances at night, but it never used to bother me.
When I recalled the evening’s events to my husband, I included being ma’am’ed and the uncomfortable drive home. “Yeah,” he yawned. “Getting old is a bitch.”
That’s when it hit me.
“Maybe I’m not ok with the whole aging process.”
I looked at the facts.
- I’m a terrible driver at night.
- I’m obsessed with breakthrough wrinkle creams.
- Those gray hairs I bragged about- I dyed them.
- I know there’s no such thing as a thirty-three year old girl, and I would LOVE for the term “post-adolescent” to catch on.
- I’m not cool with being called ma’am, and as a matter of fact, I would rather be called any number of bad names, instead.
Well, it looks like I’ve got some self to work on.