One little thing that bugs me is when I’m in a coffee shop and a young, often attractive, waitress calls me “honey” or “sweetie.”
I don’t translate those words to anything other than “old man.” A guy in his thirties or forties sits down in the stool next to me and the same waitress doesn’t call him “sweetie.” And I’ll bet he’s a sweeter guy at the moment than me because he’s not stewing over what a nice young woman trying to make a living just called him.
I know I’m overly sensitive about this. In former days, I might take such greetings from a waitress as a compliment, thinking, Wow, I must look particularly good today.
As I’m keystroking this blog, I just caught a reflection of my face on my computer screen. Now, I’m rethinking my whole mindset about such greetings. If anyone looks at my unshaved, thin-haired, bifocaled, sagging-jowled face and calls me “sweetie,” there is only one appropriate response.