I hate it when people call me "Ma'am".
When that happens, I feel like a middle aged woman frumping her way through life in the Upper Midwest. Which is possibly how I look to some people. But I'm more comfortable thinking of myself as a fairytale princess who was kidnapped as an infant by trolls who were hiding under the bridge when the royal carriage passed over it. I just know that some day a handsome art dealer will recognize me for who I really am and rescue me and sell my paintings for pots of money and make me famous and a national treasure.
Until then, out of a sense of noblesse oblige, I'll refrain from yelling at all the misguided peasants who keep calling me "Ma'am".
The Hostess, graphite on bristol paper, 27-1/2" x 17-1/4"