Okay What Am I Going To Write?

Okay what am I going to write?
Not one to get  into politics in print.
Not one to join the nationwide lament.

Okay what am I going to write?
Several friends have birthdays today.
Many more avoid this day.

Okay what am I going to write?
The weather's warm, I slept alright.
The ground held still all through the night.

Okay what am I going to write?
My days are planned from here to there.
A whirlwind of emotion fills the air.

Okay what am I going to write?
A question I ask time and again.
Guess I'll just have to pick up the pen.

Would You Like a Ride?

"Would you like a ride?" If that question comes from a friend then the answer could be yes or no but the question would always be acceptable. Usually I personally have heard that question from strangers. To be more specific I have heard that question from strange men as I make my way either to a favorite venue so close I don't need a car or back to my humble abode. Apparently a woman walking automatically means she needs a lift that won't necessarily take her to her final destination.

I know that there are kindhearted and generous souls to be found across the globe. I know that danger isn't always lurking behind every corner. I know that people are capable of generous deeds. I know that I do not live in Utopia and that when I am suspicious of the man offering me a ride I have every right to be so.  It amazes me that the men seem offended that I, as a single woman walking down the street minding her own business, will not blindly take this coveted treat without hesitation.

It is sad that we no longer live in a time where we could readily accept what could be an innocent offer to assistant someone struggling with packages. It is sad that the hidden meaning of words is what we look for and the words themselves have been lost. It is sad that most of the time "Would you like a ride?" has nothing to do with the vehicle in question. I see the look in your eyes when you ask.You aren't fooling me with your question. I know better than to accept your offer. However, to the men with no ulterior motive, I say, "No, but thanks for asking."

Excuse me M'am

     When did I go from being a Miss to being a M'am? I don't remember advertising to the masses. I don't remember rescinding my Miss title and yet more and more M'am keeps creeping into polite conversation when strangers address me.

     "Give the book to the nice lady." said the mom to the child. I looked around to discover the nice lady was ME! "Are you a grown up?" asked the eight year old child confused by my overalls, backwards baseball cap, sneakers and chewing gum. "Technically I am." My answer confused her more.

     Am I a grown up? Good question. I have a driver's license which first graced my wallet at the tender age of 27. Explaining that it's your first license at the DMV is less than amusing.Responding to people with the words "I had no desire to drive," just fell on deaf ears and blank stares.

     Am I a grown up? I've lived in my own apartment for well past a decade. All the bills are in my name. I'm employed;some would say I have a career. I can stay out as long as I like and have no one to report to when I get home at night.

     Am I a grown up? I watch Saturday morning cartoons. I play kickball with the kids at school. I dance without being afraid of looking like a fool. I laugh out loud in public and declare tickle wars on my friends. I mix my sodas. I still drink Slurpees. I eat chocolate for dinner.

    Inside I am a miss. I still get called miss but not as often as once upon a time.  Am I a grown up? Again I say, good question. Technically I am. I can accept that I am a grown up; But I am still NOT a M'am!