Brandt’s Rant: I Am Not Your (Or Anyone’s) Dear!

If you’re a woman of a certain age, you probably remember the first time someone called you “ma’am.” And if you don’t remember the exact moment, you recall how it felt. There you were, vital, energetic, young and hip. Moments earlier you might have been singing along to a new hit on your favourite music radio station. Wait, maybe that was just me.

My first “ma’am” happened at a gas station. I had just exited my car, filled the tank, and gone in to pay for my gas. This was a time before universal pay-at-pump options. The guy behind the counter who, by the way, wasn’t all that young, said “thank you, ma’am.”

Oh yes, it was polite, I understand that. But it was the way the word came out of his mouth with a splash of vinegar on it. Where was the sweetness with which men usually spoke to me? Just a minute earlier we were all peers. Then in a flash, I was told in no uncertain terms that I had aged out of peer range. I swear I felt my first grey hair pop through my scalp as I folded my receipt and got back in my car.

The Workplace Incident

Not long after that unfortunate rite of passage, a colleague (again, someone I thought of as a peer) remarked brightly, “I wish MY mom was as cool as you!” It was an intended compliment that landed like a tube of Bengay at my feet. The world turned on its axis and I suddenly realized that the whole “peer” thing was a sham that only went in one direction. We who were older thought of the younger ones as peers. They looked at us like wizened aliens they couldn’t relate to.

The Latest Unwelcome Milestone

I was in an unfamiliar grocery store looking around at the baked goods for something for my carb-loving husband. I guess I gazed a moment too long because I was approached by a store employee who I estimated was about ten years my junior.

*SIDEBAR: When does anyone get approached by a store employee who offers to help! RIGHT?! I don’t want to gloss over that fact, because I was impressed for one nanosecond that there was someone available to assist without being summoned by two cashiers and a guy from produce. So, kudos to this employee and the store in general.*

Now where were we? Oh yes, by this time I had determined that there wasn’t much of an in-store bakery. The employee approached and I turned to him as I felt his presence. I smiled. He smiled. And then he said the sentence that will haunt me for the rest of my grocery-buying days. “Can I help you find something, DEAR?”

There’s something about the condescending way that “dear” rolled out of the mouth of this younger man that could have made me get slappy. It’s polite, yes it is. He was being helpful and offering to assist, that is true. But you weren’t there! The “dear” clearly meant that perhaps I was looking for tins of tuna in the bread aisle. Or maybe I thought they kept ice cream on a shelf near the whole wheat tortillas. DEAR!? A dear is elderly and frail. I am a lot of things but I’m nobody’s dear!

Revenge is a Dish Best Served Old

No one gets it until they reach this age. Everyone tells you how fast it happens but you don’t really feel that until it’s too late. I tell young women to wear the short dresses, go out and dance, do all the things because a time will come when you second guess those wants and desires. And there’s no going back.

And here’s the most important part: No one of any age wants to feel old or know that you think of them as old. It’s not delusion. We all know how old we are. But from our vantage point, we were JUST your age! Maybe the 102-year-old long-term care resident will be okay with it but no other woman, man, nor beast will be. Jokes about age are not funny and frankly, they’re low hanging fruit. Do better. And kindly hold your ma’ams and dears and sweeties and other old lady euphemisms behind your closed lips in your shut pie hole. Thank you.