I lost count of how many times the car salesperson had called me "sweetie," "honey," or "sweetheart" during our stroll around the lot trying to discover the car I was looking for. This young man was being just plain rude. It wasn't just the inappropriate "terms of endearment" he was using to refer to me, his customer, a woman several years older than he, and someone he had never met. It was the whole experience. He talked "car stuff" with my husband; the safety ratings, the mechanics, and the operation of the vehicle we were considering. He did ask me for my input when it came to what color car I wanted and on the size of the car. The financial discussions were no different. Instead of what I am, a mother with the job of taking care of two children and attending to her education to benefit her family, I felt painted as an "unemployed housewife" whose husband was buying her a little present. It was my loan, my trade-in, and both of our funds going to purchase this car but it didn't matter, what I do has no monetary value. I could watch my husband eyeing me the whole time, waiting for me to say something; he's not going to say something if I don't want him to. And I didn't. This was a convenient place to buy the specific car we needed, we were too deep into the paperwork to storm out now, and I didn't know when my husband would be free again. So I endured the sexist microaggressions and couldn't wait to get out of there. Oh and can you believe the salesperson was astounded when I refused to go on a test drive with him?