A Taste of Manners

As I said last week, I am the youngest of five children born and raised in Texas.  That means I grew up with yes Ma’am, no Ma’am; yes Sir, no Sir and opening doors for my elders.  I learned to fetch at an early age (you thought that was only for dogs, ha!) which means, what no one else wanted to do fell to me.  In my family as soon as the next one down had a driver’s license, that one ran all the errands. (So guess who got to run all the errands like forever.)

I am still the youngest of my bunch (no surprise there) and that courtesy habit is deeply ingrained.  I still say Ma’am and Sir when the situation calls for it (even if the person is younger than me) and open the door for my elders.  I’m also inclined to fetch and carry when the need arises.

This is Texas.  I run into manners all the time.  But recently, I spent the afternoon with two gentlemen and it made me realize how much I am used to being the baby—translation; last one in pretty much everything (my siblings would dispute that).

It’s the little things that has me laughing at myself.  At the door of the restaurant, one opened the door and the other stood back so I could go first.  Lovely manners but what am I doing?  Also standing and waiting.  Finally, after I was waved on, it dawned on me I was supposed to go first.  I was seated first and (just now realized they waited for me) gave my drink order first.  When the waitress came to take our food order there was a definite period of silence while she looked expectantly at me.

I have never thought of myself as slow on the uptake but that day…   I blame it on the previously mentioned translation of being the baby. 

Go ahead, laugh.  I am.