Sometimes being a doctor isn't enough. Sometimes you need to invest in pornography.

People tend to say the craziest things around me. Not everyone of course, but there are definitely a select few who let it all hang out. I’ve often wondered if this is a unique experience, if there’s something about me that inspires that internal editor to go to sleep, or if this is a universal phenomenon where as an entire population we all walk around scratching our heads and going WTF?!

The following conversation is all true. I can’t make this stuff up even if you paid me. Some time has gone by since it occurred and I still can’t believe it.

Background: Because I don’t eat red meat and have a hard time holding on to B vitamins I have to occasionally go in to the doctor’s office to have my B vitamin levels tested or else I will explode into tiny puddles of oozing green goo, or whatever happens with low vitamin B levels. My doctor is normally a very competent, caring physician whom I’ve been going to for 22 years.

Doc: Hello. How are you?

Me: Hi. I’m good. Thanks.

Doc: So you’re here today…

Me: To check my B levels

Doc: Right. How is your son?

Me: He’s doing well.

Doctor scowls at something in my file.

Me: Is everything ok? (Meaning, is there something in my file that’s a problem. After all I am the patient and all.)

Doc: Have you seen the new XYZ building? (The building was recently remodeled and renamed after a prominent Minnesota family after they contributed several truckloads of cash. Since I don’t know how much of this story is true, I will call them the XYZ family).

Me: I’ve driven by it.

Doc: Do you know how they got their money?

Me: Uhhh, no, I don’t know them.

Doc: They own (insert name of a Minneapolis strip club here). They have other business they use to cover it, but that’s where the bulk of their money comes from.

Me: Oh

Doc continues, absent-mindedly staring out the window: They don’t talk about it. They’re silent partners. I really missed the opportunity. I should have gotten into porn when I was younger.

Me, unsure if he is joking: Would you have wanted to be behind the camera or in front of it?

Doc, now looking startled: No, no, I should have invested in it.

Me: You know my last test was normal and I’ve been taking supplements. I bet this one will be normal too.

Doc: I could have been a silent partner too. Could have had my name on a building.

Me: What would you say at dinner parties when people asked you what you do?

Doc: Well, I’m a doctor. I would tell them that. We’d put the business in my wife’s name.

Me: Right

Doc: Right. Now your test…

Don't call me ma'am!

Tomorrow I will be 40. A bit hard to believe. Like many others, I've wondered in the past if I would actually reach this age. I'd had my share of challenges (chronic illnesses, tough choices). I've walked down a yellow carpeted aisle and said "I do." There's a short person who runs around the house and refers to me as "Mom." I have a mortgage and my car is not a hand-me-down. It appears I am now a full-fledged, card carrying adult.

Now, don't get me wrong, I like being an adult. Yes, there's extra responsibility and I can no longer fit into that slinky little skirt in the back of my closet (Who am I kidding? I could never fit into it), but, there's also a freedom, confidence and respect that comes with age. People can try to tell me what to do, how to think, what to feel...but I don't have to listen to them. I can stay up all night if I want to and have nothing but popcorn and wine for dinner - well, only when my son is at a sleepover, and preferably on the weekend when I don't have to get up for anything - can't function on 3 hours of sleep anymore.

I think I'm going to like being 40. I'd rather be 40 than 30 or 20. And yet...and yet...I was at a grocery store not too long ago, after I signed for my purchases, the check out lady said to me, "May I see your card ma'am?" That startled me. Ma'am? Ma'am! When did I become ma'am? I showed her my card and went home mildly perturbed. Why did it bother me to be called ma'am? Wasn't it a legitimate term for an adult female? And isn't this what I was?

Yes, but...A ma'am in my mind has always been someone's grandmother. She's an older woman wearing a long skirt, with a beginnings of a stoop in her shoulders and a few stray hairs on her chin. I sometimes find myself calling a few of those difficult women ma'am. You know, those whom you'd rather call "bitch"? As in, "If you'd only stop yelling ma'am, I'm sure we can get this figured out." Convenient, isn't it?

Men don't have a counterpart to this term. They're not designated into categories of young and old. Unfair? Completely! Perhaps we should devise a new title for the seasoned gentleman. Something to even out the playing field. "Old fart" maybe?

A few days after the "ma'am incident," I went to have the oil changed in my car. Once the job was done and my keys were returned to me, I set out to find my silver car in their vast parking lot full of silver cars. I must have looked perplexed because an employee approached me and asked, "Miss, can I help you find your car?" Miss!!! I was "Miss" once again. Granted he looked about 18 and I was old enough to be his mother, but it was nice to not have to answer politely to a word that to me always meant "old."

So what to do? How nice it would be if there was one title we could use for all women. "Ms" works beautifully. Unfortunately, it is used so rarely. Some day we'll have that word. I believe we're headed in that direction. Until then, I'm going enjoy being an adult, I'm going revel in my acquired wisdom, I'm going to trust my decisions and my instincts, I'm going to chase happiness and make the most of every day. But if you don't know my name and you see me out and about and want me to move out of your way or tell you the time or give you a bigger tip, please...don't call me ma'am!