An old woman reached across the counter and grabbed my nametag. On closer inspection she asked, “Why is your name spelled in the feminine?”
“Um, it isn’t ma’am. That’s just the way my mother chose to spell it.”
“She shouldn’t have added the “l” and “e”.
The woman proceeded to mock my name in a way I’ve heard people do on and off since the third grade, deliberately dragging out the last syllable in a “feminine” tone. But that’s okay, because she then went on to unloading her life story onto the pour customers who came after her.