I like to eat in restaurants. The kind of restaurants where they call me Mrs. Lastname, but find it gauche to mention that while the entrée costs more than the server is old, the sides are still ala cart. (That means it’s extra for asparagus, and corn is not on the menu.)
And I like to call waiters who have less mustache than I do, Darling. Yep, and I do so in a Zsa Zsa accent. (If you don’t know who Zsa Zsa is I would probably call you darling too.)
No, they like it; they do… But cops don’t! Even super duper cute cops with the biggest gun I’ve ever seen (close up) who have a really good start on a big ole Tom Selleck ‘stache.
Maybe because waiters have to be nice if they want a good tip, and cops can’t take tips, (aka bribes, or at least won’t take the kind of bribes I could afford) so they feel no need to tolerate condescending endearments from a woman whose excuse for knowingly giving a stop sign the California treatment was that it was in the mall parking lot and therefore only required obedience if there were another vehicle in the vicinity, “Daahling”.
Not sure why he let me off with a warning, (during which he referred to me with a patronizing “ma’am”) perhaps it was because I refrained from calling his partner sweetie.