ma'am'd. dammit.

i was ma'amed this weekend. twice in fact. the first time i was buying alcohol, so that was a little depressing. granted, it could have been my "do you have any roses blended from pinot noir?" question that tipped them off that i may be over 21. it also could have been the fine lines and wrinkles appearing around my eyes.

which brings me to my second ma'aming, which led to a mighty internal dialogue diatribe.

i was at sephora, buying a foundation in aligihter shade than what came with my little kit. i recently switched over to bare essentials make up. i'm probably spelling that wrong, but you know the one. it's mineral make up. i have very sensitive skin and someone recommended it to me, so i thought i'd brave the mall to get some. they only sell it - to my knowledge - at sephora, which is a store that absolutely intimidates me since the only make i wear is usually lipstick and mascara (and usually a very light foundation). i had gone last week and bought the starter kit.

i've been using it all week, delighted with it, but thought that as the very little summer color that i have starts to fade, i should get a lighter foundation.

last week when i had gone for the makeup, i was accosted by a helpful but scary sephora worker of amazonian proportions, who admired my "porcelein quality" and "minimal signs of aging." i was affronted that she should even mention the word aging. she took my face with her huge mitts and examined me carefully under very scary lighting and a very scary magnifying mirror.

so i walk into sephora for the second time in a week. pony tail. mineral make up, looking very au natural. jeans, long sleeve tee shirt, etc. i make my way over to the kiosk selling my make up and it is wall to wall with 20 year old models. crap. i really wanted to check out the eye liner shadow, and maybe the concealer to hide my freckles (or, apparently, age spots), etc. but there was no way i was breaking through the brick wall of seven jeans, fake tans and babydoll tops.

i waited for a hole, and then delicately reached an arm in with a quick "excuse me." thankfully, my hand reached through correctly and snagged a "fair" jar of foundation. i made a b-line for the counter. and that's where it happened:

"did you find everything you wanted, ma'am?"

mentally, i lost it. my initial internal dialogue was to react with:
"ma'am? really? look, child, with blue eyeliner and bee-stung lips that make you look like you're allergic to whatever you're wearing, i am NOT a ma'am. you don't see my purchasing the lancome anti-aging whatever, do you? no. you do not. you see me purchasing the same makeup that the 18 year old teeny boppers are wearing. what about me makes me a ma'am?"

instead, i smiled and said that was it. i figured if i complained about the hordes of teens at the counter blocking my way to the goods made me sound even older.

and then i went home and made cupcakes. the end. and i also slathered on some moisturizer with age-defying vitamin c.