Two small encounters at the weekend. Yet maybe they are telling me something.
Yesterday, I stopped in to my usual coffee bar (one of the Costa’s in the centre of Peterborough) to be greeted by a new barista. “What would Madam like?”
“Does Madam, want milk with that?”
“Could Madam help by paying over this side”.
OK. Maybe he was just being very canny, but it didn’t feel that. Didn’t feel remotely pc, for once.
The day before, chatting with a woman I met at my local (where they had music and revoltingly bitter rare ales for the bank holiday) her daughter cut in. Not with the usual innocence-of-babes remark along the lines of “is that a man or a lady?”
But instead: “Mum: that lady sounds like a boy”.
I mean NO! Really? Really, really?
I don’t believe it. I don’t know how to believe it. But it makes me feel like crying just to think its becoming true.
P.S. a minor coda to the above (and maybe evidence that the speech therapy, too, is beginning to have some effect).
But i am getting good at launching phone conversations several tens of Hertz higher than i used to. So I picked up the phone to andrea’s mum a few minutes back and… she didn’t recognise my voice. Thought she had a wrong number.
Once again, i don’t quite dare to believe. But she isn’t the first now to notice.