I don’t know if it’s generally a Southern thing or particular to Louisiana, but ever since I’ve arrived in New Orleans I have been addressed on several occasions as “baby” and/or “Miss Catherine.”

In most cases but not all, it’s an older African-American using the term baby.   I can’t explain it, but there is something very comforting about someone, even a stranger, calling me baby. It reminds me of my grandmother or my great Aunt Bea who used to fuss over me as a kid.  I haven’t been somebody’s baby for such a long time that I have forgotten how “secure” it makes me feel.

Thank you, baby – as I hold the door open.

It’s down the street and to your left, baby – as I ask for directions.

How are you today baby? – as a waitress pours me a cup of coffee.

Everything okay, baby? – as I stand on a street corner looking a little lost.

Of course, all babies grow up, and since I am attending a conference at a large hotel, I’m usually sporting a name badge with my first name in big print.  Most of the service staff call me Miss Catherine when they see me.

Me, a “Miss” – imagine?  I have been a Madame – or God forbid – a Ma’am for so long that I had forgotten was it was like to feel like a Miss.  But after being here for a few days I remember that it makes me feel positively coquettish.