I always wanted to be grown up when I grew up.

A little kid called me “lady” the other day when I was at a store. Browsing through some racks of plastic packaged goods, I absentmindedly knocked one to the ground. As I bent to pick it up, I heard a mother next to me admonish her son: “Did you knock that down?”

“No,” he replied. “The lady did it, the lady did it.” My first thought involved how unfortunate it was that she should be so quick to assume her kid was the one making a mess, but my second was, when did I become a “lady”?



I’ve been reading through The Associated Press Stylebook this week since I’m going to be responsible for, oh, just about all of it when I assume my duties as copy editor this Saturday. The cover of the 2007 version, incidentally, is much more attractive than previous incarnations, which makes it a little easier for me to get through, incurable aesthete that I am. Note, however, the absence of the Oxford comma in the cover’s caption. Just one of the many stylistic preferences I will have to suspend in my position. It’s enough to make an incurable aesthete shudder.

The entries on the proper terminology for males and females state that “boy” and “girl” are acceptable until the people in question reach the age of 18; after this point, “man” and “woman” should be used, occasionally with a “young” attached if appropriate.

How abruptly we seem to enter adulthood. Though we’ve extended childhood well into what was once considered legitimately adult territory and fashioned an unprecedented stage of life out of these extra years, we still lack an adequate transition. To say that the day we turn 18 is the day we become adults is surely folly. I don’t know how many people would consider themselves adults at that age, but I ultimately did not. I wanted to, I tried to, but I just couldn’t feel it. I was still far too dependent, and probably still am.

I certainly don’t know a better way to make the distinction, though. I’m still just surprised that I’m a “lady.”