Invisible

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From the age of sixteen until I was somewhere in my fifties, there were times I wished I could be invisible. I don’t mean like children wish they could disappear from parents or sneak into the candy store. I wished I could go places and not have men bother me just because I had “the face”. Well, I also had the body since I was a perfect (gag) size six for decades and did not earn it with endless hours of exercise. Yes, you may hate me but there is always another side to the coin.

Attention is fun and stopping the conversation in a room when you walk in is a power trip. That being said, you are expected to always look like you deserve “the face” so you are supposed to have a bit of make-up and acceptable clothing on whenever you leave the house. There have been men in my life who thought I should wear clothing that I have only seen on crime shows, worn by hookers. I didn’t wear any of those (with the exception of the pink dress, but that is another story). But attention stops being fun when it never ends. When men ogle you or worse pester you as if you were single even with a big wedding ring on your finger.

Now that I have my wish, I am sad. The other day I was in the line at the post office and the guy in front of me was gorgeous. Strong face with a slightly broken nose (ex-fighter?), dark hair, strong arms with dark hair and crystal blue eyes. Yes, he was one of my types and he looked right through me. I was invisible. For a moment, it hurt that such a handsome man could not see me looking at him. Then I remembered how much I always wanted to be invisible. I could look at this sexy 30ish guy with abandon. He could not see me. I am now old.

Be very careful what you wish for! If you live long enough, your wish may come true. The plus side of my wish fulfilment is that I got to stare at this guy, who should be on the cover of my next book, for nearly twenty minutes without ever having to speak or politely tell him I’m not available.  It was really Fun!

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One thought on “Invisible

  1. I hated having red hair growing up. (How could God be so cruel?) I couldn’t understand why strangers complimented it. Recently, I was talking to a young Ginger (I like to capitalize “ginger”). She was about 20 or so, and she told me as she stroked her own red hair, “Embrace it!” Oh, how I wish I could’ve adopted that attitude about my hair at that age.

    Liked by 1 person

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