Ms. Glendower or The Queen
You will be amazed at how many people prefer to call me Ms. Glendower instead of The Queen. Often, especially when I am in situations that I must maintain a modicum of formality, I remind people who take the liberty to call me by my first name, that my name is Ms. Glendower, or The Queen.
Sometimes, little children prefer to use The Queen, but only children under 10. By 10, natural resistance has set in and the very act of giving them a choice triggers defiance for the option that makes them feel the more powerful. For some reason they assume The Queen takes more from them than Ms. Glendower. Either way, my first name is no longer on the table.
The adults never opt for The Queen, except when they use it instead of “That Bitch.” Either way, bitch is no longer on the table.
Men will attempt to continue with my first name until I stop listening to them. If/When, they really need my input they will succumb and call me Ms. Glendower or, The Queen, with feign deference.
Some men will attempt to use another name all together, usually something sarcastically grander (in his opinion) than Ms. Glendower or The Queen, like Field Marshall, Admiral, General or the like. Unless the situation is urgent, I usually ignore them as well. Funny though, I have yet to be called God. That is still reserved for men who are full of themselves, even from other men.
Even with the passive aggressive defiance that many people exercise, I feel that I win, at least a little, or at least more than I used to when I didn’t have a clue how to handle people who hate me.
All in all, depending on the day/time/situation I may hate myself just as passionately as someone else may hate me. The thing is, I can adjust/accommodate/compromise for variables. I just cannot adjust/accommodate/compromise for hatred, hatred that comes from no other reason than I posses a natural disposition not to be abused.