When I leave my apartment in the morning, freshly coiffed, chicly adorned, strutting in my heels; and I encounter the two cute, twenty-something guys who recently moved in down the hall - I do not want to hear from them "good morning MA'AM!"
I am not a ma'am, nor will I ever be. A ma'am is a tired washed out old bag.
Well, so much for my fantasy of going to borrow a cup of sugar from these two hotties. I can only hope they are gay.
