Ma'am I Am...So Not

Another year. Another's Women's History Month. And still no alternative for "Ma'am" - three letters and a squiggle that I loathe beyond measure. The "polite term for women" that so does not describe the spiritually youthful, if age-accomplished, Me.

Oh, ladies, chicks, and dames of the HuffPo! Am I only XX chromosomed here who hates being Ma'am-o-grammed by cute young guys behind registers?

On the East Coast, where I used to live and perhaps you still do, is "Ma'am" not the antithesis of hotness? Would it be wrong to surmise that the closest male equivalent word, for sheer diss-you-ness and feel-caught-short-and-essentially-like-crap-ness is, "Honky"?

In the West, where I live now, men swear on their boots, guns and Stetsons that M'aam is a term of unbridled respect, the grammatical Her of Sir. This may be true, historically. But when the grandfatherly guy at PetSmart M'am-ed me last week, intentions be darned! His words felt like hell.

Why is Ma'am such a personal wham? What's in a word, anyway? Let's be honest: everything. Ma'am is a contraction of Madam, my logical mind knows. That fact could be reassuring, if I were French or brothel-managing.

Ma'am is a palindrome -- a lovely and rare linguistic thing. But if someone's going to palindromitize me, I'd prefer to be addressed with the more universally-exultant, Wow.

Why does our culture lacks a suitably kick-ass word for kick-asss women of a certain age? Young women of comely looks are called babes, a term that almost makes make me yearn for Ma'am-age, when I consider it calmly. And yet, the infantile appellation of feminine youth does point to one font of truth.

As any double-X-chromsome bearer over the age of 30 knows, it takes time to run a company or fifteenth marathons - to feel truly at home in your womanly skin in a full range of sizes. Post-babitude means Mensa-hood and Momhood, scientific sequels in the lab; a knowing sense of humor. Given all that, however, how can the English language lack a fabulous, multi-fem-faceted term for the hard-won, wonderfully natural, genius, and wise beyond measure womanly Plus of Us?

In my penultimate phase of City Life, I enrolled in several courses that would have been called "women's consciousness raising classes" in the 1970s. This being the early '00s, they were called a range of other things.

Our teachers, women well past the age of Babes, searched for positive words which with to anoint us. We were (sequentially) Goddesses, Sisters, Divas. As a child of the late '60s, raised in open classrooms where individuality held saw, I was surprised to find myself being commanded to refer to all women in one way.

Diva-hood, Goddessness...all of these spelled Ma'am to me. In fact, they made me feel bitchy. Which made sense. Having read my Bullfinch in my babe-alicious days, I knew just what a grump a true goddess could be.

At the same time, I am a hopeful woman by nature. Like love, a true new name popped up when I stopped looking.

Like love, it popped up in the least expected of places, too.

A month ago, my three year-old dog went blind in her right eye. A cataract, unusual for a canine babe of her age, had gone from 10% to full overnight. Luckily, our town receives visits from God, in the form of a puppy ophthalmologist, once a week. A week later, my dog was on the table. Three weeks later, she climbed a mountain, fully- sighted.

Delighted, I shot a digi-pic of her gazing happily at the camera. Then I drove to the local camera shop to make a thank-you card for her vet. I dropped off the image, and my name, at the digital print counter.

Living in The New Age meets the Stone Age Rockies, I can't say if what happened next was typo or serendipity. But when I picked up the photo, my name was written on the label was written "GLASSWMAN." I'd never thought I'd be happy to see a W inserted in my Self in this day and age.

And yet there I was, with a goofy grin on my face. Glasswman? The irony! The brilliance! The social commentary! Wman - the word had such welcome zest, truth and zing.

I won't know if this new term is my true replacement for Ma'am until some young guys tells me, "Thank you, Wman!" from his register.

But for now, I'm delighted by the gift. As Helen Reddy never said: "I am Glasswman, hear me giggle!"

But that's okay. Here and now, an honest laugh trumps Ma'am.