In the nearly 15 years that Maria and I have been together, Maria has never told me what to write or how to write it, and I have never told her what art to make or how to make it. That statistic is something we both are very proud of. It is a significant reason our marriage is still strong. If I dared to tell her what colors to make her quilts, the bond of trust that ties us together would be damaged, perhaps behind repair. And I might be bleeding.

So I doubt I will ever get used to strangers on social media telling me what to write and how to write it. I hope I never do.

I used to call Maria my Willa Cather “Girl.” She seemed so very young and full of life to me. It was the right word for my feelings then. Someone like her was very new to me; she seemed to capture the idea of the Willa Catha girl, young and old. I loved Cather’s books.

She was an actual feminist, not a social media feminist. She had no computer to hide behind.

Maria had no objections to the term “girl’, not in that contest.

Last week, it didn’t feel right to me anymore. I looked out the window and saw her hauling shovel by the ton and loving it, so I started calling her “My Willia Cather Woman,” which seemed awkward at first but then right. She said either way; it was okay with her. It seemed fitting to change it on her 59th birthday.

Maria is a committed feminist; she does not believe her identity comes from how I sometimes refer to her. It’s a private thing. She has some names for me I would never print.

I never call her a girl or think of her in that way. She is every ounce of a woman, one I love and respect. She’s also quite different from what she was when we met. Willa Cather, “Woman” is the correct phrase, not because it’s PC approved, but because it is the truth for me now.  I don’t need any other reason or anyone else’s approval.

I didn’t take a pole of angry feminists (they sent nasty messages every time I said “girl.” It didn’t bother me a bit.

I should say right up front that this is my business, something personal between Maria and me. No one else has the right to intrude on or tell either one of us how we should feel about so uniquely intimate a thing. In fact, intimate terms for one another would often make other people uncomfortable. Too Bad. I don’t have the right to tell any spouse or lover what to call their partner. I would consider it the height of rudeness and insensitivity.

As open as I try to be, I believe in fighting for privacy, something social media has nearly obliterated from our lives. It no longer seems to trouble people. They want their Amazon packages quickly.

What I want to call Maria is no one’s business except Maria’s, and she doesn’t consider it her business either. I don’t take a poll, and I’m not running for public office.

On social media, the word police are ever on patrol for slights, grievances, or violations of political correctness. I hear from them often. They stifle free speech and thought almost wherever they go. Real feminists do not do that, in my opinion.  They understand what is important and what isn’t.

Epic social battles are not won and fought on blogs and websites.

Label thinkers (red, blue, conservative, progressive)  do not understand and will never understand that serious writing doesn’t follow the ever-changing and churning notions of sensitivity. I love the new term for aggression – macro aggression. The most aggressive people seem to love using it. They are just aggressive.

I am comfortable with my beliefs as a feminist; I’ve lived my life that way and don’t seek strangers’ affirmation. I could never be married to the woman I love if I didn’t. I could never be married to a woman who was not a feminist. And I never have been.

Within minutes of my blog referring to Maria, I got this blog comment from Donna:

“Nice to see you evolving away from using the word “girl” when referencing women.”

This was my reply:

“It’s time, Donna, but I don’t recall seeking your opinion on the names I choose to call my wife… It’s probably my age, but I miss a time when people thought about manners. I didn’t make the change for you or anyone else. I felt it was time; I think of Maria as very much a woman and not a girl. She was fine with either name; she doesn’t believe in telling me what words to choose, as you do. I can’t imagine telling her what colors to choose for her art. I wouldn’t dare.”

Sorry, Donna, I wasn’t “referencing” anybody. I was just writing about my wife on her birthday.

A few weeks ago, a blog reader – a man – complained that I was “protesting too much” when I wrote about social media’s intrusions upon privacy, simple courtesy, and the once widely shared and very moral resistance to minding other people’s business.

I deleted his message; I care less and less about what strangers on social media think the longer I’m online. But what I thought was that I was not protesting enough.

Someone ought to be.