My chuckles came quickly and with rapidity while reading a recent letter to the editor in my local newspaper. Written by a female, this (she identified herself this way) seventy-year-old woman was incensed because a man (or maybe one man, too many) had called her "young lady". She went on to explain (more like vent) that she didn't need to think of herself as young, thank you, and that she was comfortable in her skin, proud to be her age and readily proclaiming her acquired wisdom.
It just so happens that, for as many years as I have not been chronologically a 'young lady', I have always been pleased when someone older than I refers to me, to my face, as a 'young lady'. I follow that statement up with my own line, "Can I record that, please?" and you will see a big smile on my face. Any time I can be thought of as younger than my actual age, I'm thrilled. Am I comfortable in my own 'older' skin? Yes, mostly. I' m not unhappy with my age and stage, but who wouldn't like to be 'younger' again? While I have no problem admitting that, it does not mean that I would go back in time - I'd just like to look as if I did!
I'd further offer to assure the offended letter-writer that there are much worse monikers that she/we could be referred to as. Old hag. Old biddy. Old woman. Old crow. Old hen.
Old, old, old. Nowhere, have I ever heard, "Good morning, middle-aged lady." And, if I ever hear "Good morning, old lady.", the unfortunate person from whose lips those words escaped will receive a piece of my mind!
I'll take 'young lady' any day and add a side of whipped cream to that, please.
Ancora imparo
