To ‘sir’ with love

download.jpgRachel Maddow is my spirit animal.

Last week, she was interviewing a congressman on her TV show. At the end of the interview, she says, “thank you, sir.”

The congressman responds in kind. “Thank you, sir,” he says. “I mean, ma’am,” he quickly corrects.

“It’s alright, I answer to both,” she says without missing a beat.

I bow to Maddow.

I wish I was quick on my feet. It’s probably why Rachel Maddow has a TV show and I don’t. But whatever.

imagesSometimes I don’t mind being called “sir.” Other times it bugs me. I’m fickle like that.

But then I read the comments to my last post:

“Would kill to be sir’d,” someone wrote.

“I’m jealous you get called sir,” another reader wrote.

I’m going to stop complaining. And try to roll with it, channeling my inner Maddow.

* * *

What about you? Do you hate being called “sir”? Love it? Or fall somewhere in the middle? Care to share your best response to being sir’d?

10 responses to “To ‘sir’ with love

  1. I l-o-v-e being sir’d! Only, I become so crestfallen when the person who has called me sir, realizes their “mistake” and trips all over themselves to correct the problem. 😡

  2. I just find it amusing…Especially if I’m in conversation with someone for some time and it just never clicks for them. It happens frequently enough that I’m not even surprised anymore. And I never, ever correct them.
    I have boobs. They have eyes. But they’re reacting to something much deeper. Probably how I carry myself and my deep voice. The women I’m with, including my partner, are baffled by how often this happens. 😎

    • Yeah, I think they’re responding to something deeper. It trips their circuits and they can’t tell if you’re a man or woman or girl or boy. (I’ve been mistaken for my wife’s son.) Weird. I find it mostly happens with older people.

  3. I don’t mind it in the least. I get sir’d now and again. My voice is deep and my manner is masculine much of the time.

    Rachel used to be the morning dj at our local cool radio station, 93.9 The River in Northampton (lesbian Mecca), this was before she got the gig at Air America Radio. I used to bump into her around the Pioneer Valley. We once ran into each other at my local food co-op and had a marvelous chat about all sorts of things. We have a number of friends in common so we knew each other on sight. She’s taller than me, and totally hot. And super nice. And did I say she’s totally hot? Quite.

  4. It used to bother me- but not any more. If nothing else it reminds me that most of the time, nobody’s paying much attention to the things around them, other that the obvious. Folks see someone tall, with short hair, broad shoulders and a bow tie. I get it. I just get upset a bit when I get asked to leave toilets or when women get put “on edge” by my presence. They’re reacting to an inbuilt fear of men, and that I would be tarred with that, even though I fully id as female, is upsetting. I don’t want to cause that fear in another human.

    • I hear ya, Dapper. Mostly, I worry about someone else feeling bad about misgendering me. That’s not my intention. I dress the way I do because that’s my aesthetic. My place of comfort. That’s why I named a chapter in my book about being sir’d “It’s Not You, It’s Me.” These days, I don’t feel as bad when someone mistakes me for a dude. At the end of the day, it’s their stuff and not mine.

      P.S. Am envious of your stylish haircut in your gravatar. Be well, friend.

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