Urban Drool

Almost every Monday my boss hands me $20 and instructs me to trot across the street to the Panera to buy bagels/muffins/assorted saturated-fat laden wonderfulness for the office.

I usually do not mind this little task, what with the deliciously warm and cinnamon-scented air of the store.

But the store is staffed almost entirely by young(er) women between the ages of 21 and 30.

Who all, without fail, every time I am there, insist on calling me "Ma'am."

When did I become a Ma'am?

Ma'am is 42 years old with 2 cranky pre-teens, trying to load the groceries into the back of her Honda CRV ("do you need any help with those bags, Ma'am?")

Ma'am is 51 years old, beaming with joy at the sight of her son graduating from high school ("you must be so proud of Troy, Ma'am")

Ma'am is the skeptical single mom, meeting her 17 year old daughter's boyfriend for the first time ("it's nice to finally meet you, Ma'am")

Ma'am is 73 years old, trying to get through the doorway of a Cracker Barrel while navigating her way with an absurdly large handbag and a too-long raincoat draped over her arm ("here, let me get that door for you Ma'am")

Is Ma'am one of the very same age group as the Panera girls themselves...youthful and full of vinegar at a spritely 29 years of age?

Is Ma'am's hair always pulled back in a ponytail with a scrunchtie? Is Ma'am's cell phone bright pink and shiny with glitter?

Is Ma'am's husband young and hot and just the right combination of Johnny Depp, Jack Nicholson and Kevin Smith?

I guess so.

To this I can only say: When the fuck did this happen?