Thursday, September 13, 2012

Day 113, September 13

You know you're over the hill when younger people refer to you as "Ma'am" or "My dear."  Lately, I've been "my-deared" a lot.  My hip surgeon (who looks like he is still in middle school) calls me "My dear."  The other day, another doctor called me "My dear" as well. 

I didn't mind it so much from the first doctor because, as I said, he is about the age of my grandchildren.  However, the second doctor looked to be not too much younger than myself.  And I was "my-deared" by him.  From that, I deduce that I must look more ancient than my husband, children, and grandchildren assure me that I do.

I know what you're thinking.  I can hear it now:  Hey, "My dear" isn't so bad.  I beg to differ.  It falls in the same category as "She doesn't look half bad for her age."  It's a case of damning with with faint praise. 

Ah, well.  I suppose I should be grateful that I'm damned with any kind of praise at all.

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