On more than one ocassion {why can't I spell this word? I have spelled it 3 different ways now, all of them look wrong}, I have been called "Sir" as I approached the counter to place my order. There is really nothing worse than bouncing into a place, excited for that tall, skim, iced decaf mocha, finally getting up to the server after waiting on that line that would drive anyone to insanity, and having the girl behind the counter smile and say "what can I get for you, Sir?"
What is it about me that screams guy? Is it my long, flowing golden locks? My ample cleavage? My high-pitched, feminine voice?
Do they think I'm this dude?
I dunno. I think Beehive might not be so thrilled upon finding out that he's been boning Michael Bolton all this time.
