Photo Credit: Misswired

The shift from "Hot Chick" to "Ma'am" is worse than puberty. It's not a milestone any woman particularly looks forward to. In fact, she probably won't see it coming. One minute she's flipping her hair back and batting her eyelashes at the cute guy holding the door for her. The next minute she's on the other side of the threshold blinking wildly at the blinding light. She said, "thank you" and he said what!? Yes ma'am, it's true — he said "yes, Ma'am."

You get used to it.

The year I turned 30, some friends and I planned a "just the girls" trip. We rented a house on a small island along Florida's "Redneck Riviera" and indulged in all the sun, fun and laughing we could do. A few cocktails and some fried calamari into an evening at the beach side bar and restaurant, a band hit the stage. Travesty. No, not the eating, drinking and carrying on. The band — Travesty was their name.

Travesty played off-key covers of every John Cougar Mellencamp ditty ever recorded, and we sang along. But these guys weren't the only rockers in the house. Our friend Lula was front woman for her own band at the time — Attorney by day. Rock Star by night — This blond bombshell was then, and still is, the definition of the triple-threat. We asked her to go sing.

Lula decided to take our dare, and swung her hips up to the little platform of a stage. As a courtesy, she asked the tank top-clad Travesty if she could join them for a song. Come on, all the boys love Lula — it was not as if they were going to say "no."

The lead singer surveyed his band mates with raised eyebrows as if he were waiting for someone else to make the decision. They shot him back wide-eyed looks without engaging my friend. Finally the singer answered. He leaned into the microphone and said tentatively, "Well... yes Ma'am, I suppose so."

The "M" word! It reverberated around the restaurant patio and off onto a long stretch of beach so passersby in either direction would know that he was placating the old lady tourist. They might have actually heard it if not for the shocked shrieks and choking gasps coming from our table. It was the first time any of us had been ma'amed.

That's when we noticed. The whole place was full of young women... and with one seemingly polite word, we became acutely aware that we were not among them. What a travesty that our whole trip was ruined! We needed a strategy. We elected our two hottest members to represent us on the dance floor. The young'uns with bikini tan lines did not know they were participating in a dance-off, but they were. And I'm sure you can guess this outcome, but I'll tell you: We won.

One of the best things women friends do for each other is to keep counsel during times of transition. By the end of the week, we had decided how lucky we were to have enough experience and memories to be called "ma'am." Making that milestone is something to be embraced and celebrated. So now whenever I get ma'amed, I don't think it's a travesty. I just smile graciously and say, "thank you." Because there's one thing I know for sure: all of us can still totally kick ass in an imaginary dance off.

If you liked this article, you might also be interested in...
Not Even The Hammer Can Touch This	Hey, It's Just Me: Musings from the Porch	Nutting Worth Than Bad Haircut: TheWordWire On Listening
Pass TheWordWire