Question: At what point do you go from being a “Miss” to a “Maam”?

That was the question I posted yesterday on my Facebook page, in that section where we all try to be as clever as possible.

But it’s a sincere question. I want to know.

One friend said “I think it's right around the time you start getting up a 5 a.m., instead of heading to bed.” (That sounds right to me.)

Another friend, in her late thirties, says she’s been called maam for two years now. (She has kids.)

A smart assed male friend couldn’t get over being called “sir.” (Hyuk)

Another friend mentioned that it scared her, and that she still, at forty something, feels “like a kid at heart.” (Hear, hear!)

A friend with Southern Cred said “In the south, if you are an adult female, you are maam. Not an insult at all, but sure feels like one!” (Agreed.)

My Canadian expert said: "Here it's madame (or monsieur if you're a male). It happens about age 35 and I figure it's some physical change that only people 20 and under pick up on. After that, it's everybody under 30. After 30, we're on a first name basis. By 45 you're complaining about your knees and comparing medications." (Sad but true? Stay tuned.)

So apparently this is a hot topic. “The View” has nothing on me, baby.

The reason I brought this up was that I’ve been called Maam for several years now, and yesterday, I was called Miss twice.

I can’t lie to you: I loved it.

It’s not that I’m ancient, but I’m far enough north of 25 that a store clerk would be foolish to call me Miss, especially when I’m knee deep in children’s clothes, books and teeny tiny accessories. Obviously, I’m not a Miss. I have kids. Right? Wrong.

Plenty of young women have kids. Do you call them Miss because they’re young, or because you think they’re not married or don’t have kids? Does Miss in fact, have anything to do with marriage or kids?

I say no.

As my wise friends point out, it’s definitely an age thing. So when the darling young men (children, really) at Office Max called me Miss yesterday and helped me with my purchases, well, let’s just say that I was both flattered and encouraged about my future. Why? Because sure, to most people, I am most definitely a Maam-and-don’t-you-forget-it. But if they’re that nice to me when they call me Miss, think how helpful they’ll be when I’m twenty years into Maam. They’ll be carrying my pens for me, and my heavy reams of paper; they’ll be paying for my stuff and carrying ME out to the car. Thank you Maam, indeed.

Such are the perks of aging. When you’re young, you get attention because you’re young, and usually, cute. When you’re old, you get attention because you might need help, and you have some street cred by virtue of being alive. When you’re middle-aged, you’ll take a Miss anywhere you can get it, and look forward to years of deferential service as you age gracefully.

Call me Miss if you want to see me smile. I still have all my teeth.