"Dear Sunita", reads the first line of a short email. It is written to me by an acquaintance who is blessed with an abundance of awareness of my name and my gender.
Think nothing of it, I tell myself.
Then, a few weeks later.
I hold the library door open for an old woman. She smiles at me and says in a soft, quavering voice, "thank you, ma'am".
Very strange.
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