Here's one for ya. When we were having the kitchen renovated, none of the guys we hired called me by my name. Not ever. Not once. They had no problem calling my husband by
his name. I was called, "Hello," "Excuse me," and "Your wife."
I was really sick of it, so one morning I walked into the kitchen with a post-it note on my chest with my name boldly printed on it. One of the guys was an older man. In fact, he was the father of the guy we hired. He saw the note and said, "Is that so you don't forget who you are?" I said, "No, I know who I am. It's so
you don't forget who I am. If you have any further trouble remembering my name, you'll find it on the checks you've been cashing." Let me tell you, it made no difference. He was a surly old cuss and was amused that he'd gotten under my skin. I had even let that old f*cker smoke his pipe in my house!
After the job was completed, I told the guys that they did a great job and that my only complaint was that they refused to address me by my name. The son not only didn't address me by my name, all along he had trouble making eye contact as well. I said I thought he was a nice guy and I didn't know if it was just me he had a problem addressing or if it was a problem he had with women in general and that he really needed to work on that. People like to be addressed by their names. He looked sheepish and didn't say much, except a lowly mumbled, "Sorry."
I'm not fond of being called "Miss," but it beats being called...
nothing. 
Bella
