Thursday, 17 July 2014
Yesterday I put on a new t-shirt that still had the tag in it. Not on one of those itchy plastic things that you can snap, but a good strong piece of string. My scissors were downstairs so I made a mental note to cut it off before I left the house. When I undressed for a bath last night I remembered. All day, with a tag. A big tag. As I stared at it I realised something...I didn't care. Did anyone die because of my tag? Was my day ruined by my tag? No. So who cares?
Then I realised that no one would've noticed anyway because I am, after all, over 35. According to one 'news story' I read this week, that means I am invisible. (Also, the average age of the first time mother has hit 30 for the first time ever so that's a pretty small window. How much do they pay these people?)
I was probably in my mid-forties when I first became aware that I was no longer getting the oh so tiresome 'would I or wouldn't I?' assessment. And lo, it was good. I've never needed that kind of validation and it may be 'biology' and often subconsciously done but it annoyed the heck out of me. So I suppose it was only a matter of time before it occurred to me that the newer, wider-ranging invisibility that comes with newer, wider-ranging wrinkles is indeed as freeing as those ahead of me have reported.
Hell, I can walk down the street with a tag hanging out of my clothes and some people might imagine that it says 'Batty Woman Of A Certain Age' but most won't even register my existence.
Just imagine what I could get up to. It's like being given a superpower! A whole new world of non-accountability is opening up before me and I'll admit I'm loving the idea. Like a cross between the Invisible Woman and the Silence.
I'm thinking I shall be A Force For Good.