Don't call me Dear, Darling

As the only Julia in a school full of Julie's I've never been precious about my name.  At work I am called by my mother-in-law's name, or more likely a mis-pronounciation of it.  I can be Miss or Mrs and none of that worries me.  I wouldn't mind if people just said, "Oi, you!"

However, when someone calls me Dear, my hackles rise.  

I can't tell you why it makes me so cross.  It just feels so patronising.

Maybe, it's because I'm not dear.  In fact, I'm really cheap.  I don't have expensive habits. I don't drink, smoke, take drugs, buy loads of clothes.  I get my books from the library, grow my own vegetables, paint my own fingernails.  My ideal holiday is a week walking in West Wales with the dog. 

Three days ago, the Long Suffering Husband, uttered the immortal phrase

They have been a very quiet three days for him.  I might start speaking to him again later today.