I swear to all the goddesses, cute kittens, and kind gentlemen who open doors for me, I will scream the next time someone calls me Sweetie. I’m not your sweetie. I’m no one’s sweetie. My delicate sensibilities don’t even bend in that direction. What am I, then?

My name is Terri, for cryin’ out loud.

I am also no authority on names that complete strangers call senior citizens but trust me when I say you are doing no one a favor by putting us in a cute little feebly-named box. Am I pissed? No.

I am being not sweet, not dear, and definitely not honey.

We all have the right to free speech, but have we forgotten our manners while standing on our soap boxes and preaching about all our rights and wrongs? I suppose I am doing that by sounding off about the condescending and dismissing of us people of a certain age. So sue me.

But while you’re suing me, please call me by my name, and I will afford you the same common courtesy.

I included this image just for fun. I’m really not that scary.

Ya’ll hurry back now, ya hear? But please bring your manners.

I will even make us some coffee.