“Yes, Missy! What’s up?”

“I am getting sort of old, Marica… “

“RUFF!”

“OH NO YOU’RE NOT!”

“I am. I am almost plus or minus five years old now.”

“Oh my God, Missy. I sure do love you but you really have to stop fighting me on this one. When you say, ‘Plus or minus,’ you embarrass me. That is not how one properly notes error.”

“Ruff? ruff.”

“OMG, Marica. Get with the program. This is 2006!  +/- 10 ; 2016! Plus, minus, whatever. The point is, I am no longer a youngster.”

“ruff.”

“No, no you’re not Missy.”

“And so to get back to my original point … that little Bebe sure is a sweetie, isn’t she?”

“Ruff!”

~~

Some young women half my age called me “Sweetie” as she was ringing up my groceries at the Super Lu this morning. That did not go well.

I had a few items to pick up @ the alt-grocery store, and as I approached the checkout, she said, “Hey, Sweetie!”

This young women has failed to learn Southern-Female etiquette protocol.

You do not call me ‘Sweetie.’ I am old enough to be your mother/grandmother. I am ‘Ma’am’ unless I happen to be your @altz-Heimers grandparent, in which case you can call me ‘Sweetie.’

I took out my check book and paused for a moment. (I’d already shopped at the Family Dollar and at the Piglet– the small Piggly Wiggly in town– and I was shopped-out!)

The young women said, “It’s the 22nd!” because she presumed I did not know the date.

And I said, “Yes! It is. It’s George Washington’s birthday!”

And she said, “I didn’t know that.”

And I said, “Well, you should have.”

And she said, “my bad.”

And then she said, “Thank you, Sweetie!”

And then I vowed to go back into the Super Lu every chance I get so that I can increase the probability that I will interact with this young woman again so that I can make a difference in The WORLD.

~~

Sniff. Sniff. Sniff.

Sniff.

“Marica? Are you quite alright?”

“RUFF!!??”

“Oh, Missy! Oh, Rocky! Oh! Yes, I’m fine. How are you?”