Three young women stood in front of me.  They were choosing nail polish.  No problem.  I wasn’t in a hurry. 

I’d been up since 5:30 AM and had driven two hours to the northern panhandle of West Virginia to get that Wheeling feeling. In other words, I drove to Wheeling for work.

The only feeling I got?  Tired.  So, on the way home, I stopped at a nail salon to treat myself to a pedicure.

And everything was fine—until the cute blond to my left said, “We’ve got to move out of this lady’s way.”

I glanced right.  I glanced left.  I glanced over my shoulder.  That’s when it dawned on me: I was “this lady.”

We females are called girls, gals, girlfriends, women, and ladies.  Not that there is anything wrong with being a lady.  I’m sure my mother was relieved the day she realized she could rely on me to be a lady when necessary.  Still, the tomboy in me will always remain.

Maybe it’s me, but isn’t there a difference between “a lady” and “this” or “that” lady?  The former speaks of manners and etiquette and elegance.  The latter suggests—or in my case—screams:  Advanced age.

In the early 1970s, Tom Jones sang, “She’s a Lady” to the top of the charts with the emphasis on “a Lady.”  “…She’s got style. She’s got grace. She’s a winner.”   Those lyrics are what most women would consider a compliment:  

Somehow, I don’t believe the “girls” who were choosing nail polish were thinking along those lines.  And I’m sure—in moving out of “this lady’s” way—they didn’t mean to be negative or insulting. They were just trying to be accommodating.

Lady?  Me?  When did I transition from girl to woman and now, to “that lady”?  I don’t remember turning that corner. I wonder how the girls would have referred to me had I been younger or near their same age? Would they have said, “We need to move out of this chick’s way” or “Hey, girl, let’s make some room for you?”

As for me, I saw no difference in our ages until I was deemed “this lady”

The male population does not have this problem.  It’s true.  Men are boys until they reach their mid-twenties or so. From that point on, they are referred to—at least in hearing range—only as men, possibly dudes and bros, but all who will always be boys.

I pondered the “girl to woman to lady” evolution as I chose my nail color. Bubble Bath? No, too subtle. Berry Blue? Too sweet.  Serene Green? Too calm.

No, this was a red situation. There it is: Kiss My Aries—that would show them.

My feet soaked in warm water beneath a chair that, though it massaged my back, did nothing for my self-esteem.  All the while I watched the door, looking for a “this” or a “that” lady, to gauge how others must perceive me.  But my mind registered only women and girls and one man, who as we established, was probably a boy. 

I relaxed my head against the chair and said to myself, “Self, set it free” when a woman I knew walked in.  I said, “Hi. How are you?”  She said, “I’m tired.” 

“Me, too,” I said.

 She lifted her eyebrows in surprise.

“Are you kidding?” she asked. “You look refreshed—like you’re starting the day, not ending it.” 

In that instant, “this lady” became the girl she’d been all along.