Monday, 11 December 2006

Don't Call Me Madam

AROUND my kitchen table this evening the conversation turned to "women of a certain age". My 35-year-old friend believes that today was the day she officially lost it. "It" being that certain something that young women have - that perky, flirty something that gets you what you want. Manipulative, of course, and sexist, naturally, but very useful nevertheless.
After oversleeping she'd had a mad scramble to get out of the house and get to work on time and had forgotten to put on her seat-belt. She was flagged down by a policeman who she swears wasn't a day over 14. She batted her eyelashes, trying to look cute and apologised in a girly, breathy voice .
Instead of rising to the occasion like Sir Lancelot coming to the aid of a damsel in distress, he looked as uncomfortable as if he were being propositioned by his maiden aunt. The final nail in the coffin was when he produced a fixed penalty ticket and called her madam. Not miss or honey or love or sweetheart but, horror of horrors, MADAM. She has felt depressed ever since.
I tried to think back when I officially "lost it" but it's so lost in the mists of time that I couldn't dredge up the memory of ever "having it". Oh well, better drive carefully and legally!
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