When you have the attitude of a snotty teenager and the body of a pudgy 50 year old matron, when you open your mouth, people tend to think you're trying to be cute. I mean the soooo unattractive kind of cute. The kind that's not at all funny, but pushing too hard to be.
Those people don't realize actually I'm trying to tone down the immature responses and have been since I had my first kid and realized shit, I'm a Mom. Smart-ass might look as out of place on me as a Laura Ashley pinafore but that's all I got in my closet. (smartass, I mean. I did manage to get rid of my last Laura Ashley when I was in my 40s and I miss the cheery floral prints.)
Mutton dressed as lamb isn't bad enough, now someone has accused me of not respecting My Genre (smut) mostly because I'm calling it smut. It's true I do feel a twinge of guilt. On the other hand, geez, guys. Lighten up. It's supposed to be fun, right? Escapist, yes? It's not supposed to change civilization. And hey talk about mockery. The stuff people write to change civilization? Now that often deserves a far greater eye roll than some fun erotic romance.
See? I'm an equal opportunity smart ass.
I'm hoping that if I live another few decades, I can be cute again, as in the aww, isn't that precious kind of cute. 80 year old ladies who are outspoken are a staple in all Regency Romances. I'm going for it.