It seems to be the general consensus among the people I know that when someone calls you “Signora” this is not good because it implies you have reached a certain age: you have grown up.
As much as I enjoy it when people assume I am younger than I really am, and I fondly remember the way my skin used to be before it started to sag, I don’t actually mind being called “Signora”. As far as I can tell, respect like that seems to be one of the main benefits of growing up. Signora status is a badge that I have earned.
Today I am thirty-five and inside myself that’s just about exactly the age I feel. Thirty-five with hair that curls at the nape of my neck! What else could a
girl woman ask for?
Here’s what thirty-five looks like on me in the morning, with no make-up and unwashed hair:
Could be worse, is what I say.