: so much for being invisible :


There’s a school of thought that says women over the age of 50 become invisible to society. The theory being, when a woman’s looks start to fade, she’s neither useful nor of interest and, therefore, she’s ignored. Instead of feeling insulted, I was tickled pink.

You see, I’ve spent a lifetime getting caught and / or looking suspicious. Attention, in my experience, isn’t something to be desired. I honestly hoped advancing age would be a free pass to a brave new world of shenanigans. It wasn’t. People still see me and I want you to quit it. I’ve had it up to here with being eyeballed. Turn your heads once in a while, would you? Look away. Give me a chance to pull a stunt or two, to look clumsy and stoopid and batty, okay?

Security cameras are now the very bane of my existence. My apartment building has them; the grocery store has them; the library, the ATM, street corners, and now even doorbells. No matter what we do or where we go, our every move is being filmed. I can’t fall down or run into a mailbox without someone noticing. I can’t go outside in pajamas. I can’t dance along the sidewalk belting out Flirtin’ With Disaster. Oh, no. My hair has to be combed, my shoes have to match. I need to appear normal. Sheesh, it’s incredibly stressful — not to mention downright impossible.

Could I, please, have a little privacy? If that’s too much to ask, I’ll settle for never seeing any actual footage of my odd self. Or hearing that you’ve spotted me on the security monitor.

Thank you.

copyright © 2019 the whirly girl

5 Responses to “: so much for being invisible :”

      • Dave Kingsbury

        Haha, watch out for those banana skins! And if you can’t beat them, as the saying goes, join them – along the lines of this Jenny Joseph poem (please excuse long quote!) …

        When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
        With a red hat which doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me.
        And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
        And satin sandals, and say we’ve no money for butter.
        I shall sit down on the pavement when I’m tired
        And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
        And run my stick along the public railings
        And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
        I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
        And pick flowers in other people’s gardens
        And learn to spit.
        You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
        And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
        Or only bread and pickle for a week
        And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.
        But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
        And pay our rent and not swear in the street
        And set a good example for the children.
        We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.
        But maybe I ought to practise a little now?
        So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
        When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

        Liked by 1 person

        Reply
  1. SilkPurseProductions

    Don’t you hate apartment buildings!? I became invisible in my 60s. I could still get attention when I was 50. However, in an apartment building with packed elevators, obnoxious neighbours and all those cameras you can’t get away with anything. The thing I hate the most is I can’t even get the mail without having to put a bra on.

    Like

    Reply

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