As a person who is obviously well over the age of 50, I do not like being called “Miss” by the staff in restaurants and other places of business. It seems patronizing to me. And just plain wrong.
Calling a woman “Miss” is akin to calling a man “Mister.”
If a man asked a waiter for a glass of water, the waiter would not say, “I’ll get that for you right away, mister.” He would say, “I’ll get that for you right away, sir.” Continue reading “I am not a miss”
I never seem to get tired of home improvement shows, or shows where people buy new houses. But one thing I do get tired of is the desire of nearly every person on these shows to want an open concept kitchen. I wonder if these people have ever had an open concept kitchen, or if they desire one only because it sounds good in concept.
These kitchens look great in carefully staged homes. They are spotless. Gleaming. Gorgeous. But they make no practical sense in my opinion.
The people who want open concept kitchens must not actually cook much. They must not be the kind of people whose dish drainer frequently gets stacked with pots and pans. The counter next to their sink must not always have a pile of plates and cups waiting to be put into the dishwasher. And their stove top must never be splattered. Continue reading “Not open to the concept”
It seems like suddenly every woman and girl on the street is wearing the same thing: leggings or skinny jeans. Did all females simultaneously decided to make this fashion choice while I wasn’t paying attention?
I knew that leggings and skinny jeans were a thing, but suddenly they are the ONLY thing. I noticed this on a recent trip to New York City. Nearly every woman there was wearing skinny pants of some sort with boots. And now I’m seeing it everywhere… even on older women in my local grocery store. How did this happen? Continue reading “Skinny Pants”
Like many women of the Baby Boom generation, I had a collection of Barbie dolls in the early 1960’s. My first Barbie was a “Bubble Cut,” as she is now known because of her round, poufy hairdo. Her waist didn’t swivel, her shoulders didn’t rotate, her hair couldn’t be combed, and she had a huge wardrobe, unlike her most recent incarnations. Continue reading “My Barbie My Self”
I didn’t notice that my sense of smell had been lost until I picked some lavender from my garden one day a few years ago.
I held the bunch of flowering purple stems close to my nose, anticipating the pleasure of its distinctive fragrance, and inhaled. When I didn’t smell anything I sniffed harder and still: nothing. That’s strange, I thought. I wondered if the plant was too old, or had not gotten enough of some essential nutrient. Continue reading “The Memory of Scent”