At the Madonna Inn in San Luis Obispo, there's one stall in the women's bathroom reserved for the underdeveloped. It reads "Little Girls Only," and comes complete with miniature toilet. Does this stop certain friends of mine from partaking in some tiny joy? Little girl, fine. But what's with the new use of the word lady? "Hey lady!" chipper urbanites say to one another. "Hey lady!" says even my mother. One thing to call myself a lady; quite another to be greeted as such. To call oneself a lady: comical. To be saluted as one: grating.
Did I just get off the golf course with a fresh manicure and a sensibility as vast as the square footage of a shopping cart? Did I attend a debutante ball and properly breeze through adolescence without a hitch? Am I on an after-office softball team wearing white shorts and a visor, engagement ring pert on my narrow finger? No. I am photographing a small plastic rabbit and thinking up lewd jokes to tell on stage. Girly, maybe...but hardly a lady. And I hold my head high.
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