I get ma’am-ed a lot these days. I mean, I kind of get it. I’m a resident, I work eighty hours a week, I’m past the quarter century mark. I don’t look, how shall we say… fresh! pert! remotely well-rested! Which I guess are terms that in many ways translate to youth.
I’ve also sprouted some curves that in reality, I don’t altogether hate, it’s just frustrating when I try to wear an outfit that used to be a go-to and now makes my midsection resemble a penis caught in a zipper, all flesh akimbo and painful to the eye.
I guess this maturation of my body is a give away.
I don’t feel that different than when I was seventeen, back when I’d resent being called, “Miss.”
I guess it’s true that you always want what you don’t have. Back then I’d have gotten a kick out of being a Ma’am; now I practically tip any person who addresses me as Miss.
I suppose that since the bulk of my week is spent responding to “Dr.” it does mean I’m pass the Miss stage… but that’s just so weird. In my mind I’m still a kid. Though there has been sufficient evidence to the contrary of late…
A few weeks ago when I was on the general pediatric wards I had a patient who was suspected to have Stevens-Johnson syndrome. When the dermatologist came to evaluate him and give recommendations she was skeptical. It didn’t look altogether consistent with SJS… She was like, “You know… his eyes don’t look that red… I mean, they’re no worse than yours right now, and you’re post a what, 30 hour call?”
I was on hour three of the day.
Then when I went to the Dance Place last week (which, incidentally, I didn’t tell you about because the class I went to was cancelled and my schedule didn’t jive with the remainder of theirs, so… to be continued) to ask how to sign up for classes the guy whipped out a schedule and without even asking pointed me to the Beginner Adult classes.
Just like that! I mean, he assumed correctly, but… still! Oh whine whine whine.
I was also wearing my “Bugs Kick Grass” t-shirt featuring Hopper from Pixar’s A Bug’s Life which caused a cashier earlier in the day to ask, “Holy cow. How old is that shirt!? I haven’t thought about that movie in forever.”
She then proceeded to not card me for the wine I was buying because if I owned a shirt that old I was surely old enough to buy alcohol.
(For the record I was post-work out. I don’t typically wear character t-shirts in a vain attempt to appear younger.)(Yet.)
So, life goes on. I have a medical degree, I’m getting married, I pay rent and own cats... I have blood shot eyes more often than clear, I can pass for over 21 without an ID and I’m physically not a tween anymore.
My valedictory address in high school revolved around Britney Spears’ “I’m Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman,” single (because the theme of the speeches that day was "Songs.")(Okay, I guess that still doesn’t excuse it)(I stand by it though, for the record.) wherein I mused about being somewhere in between and how I couldn’t wait to get to the next stage of life and become a full fledged capital double you Woman.
I guess I’m there.