I got Ma’med.

As I was signing the receipt for my turkey wrap, a boy on the other side of the counter asked, “do you want to try this peanut butter fudge, Ma’m?”

When nobody answered him I looked up to see him staring at me expectantly.

“Did you just call me Ma’m?” I asked him.

He stared at me dumbfounded; fidgeting with his “Ben” name tag as the girl next to him snickered.

“Um…yes?” he replied.

“I’m only 24! Do I seriously look like a Ma’m?”

“Well, I’m only 20,” he said smugly. “So, you’re older than me.”

Punk.

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