Men have been smiling at me all day.
In the parking lot after breakfast with Brenda Starr. Amid the fruits and vegetables at the market. In front of the large print books in the library.
It's nearing triple digit temperatures, so I wasn't wearing a parka and boots, but my flouncy skirt brushes the top of my knees and my white linen tank top is more boxy than form fitting. I had no flashy jewelry and my only make up was sunscreen.
Why was this surprising? Those of you who have reached the stage of invisibility know the answer - one of the perks of cronehood is the ability to pass unnoticed through a crowd. My presence is acknowledged in that I occupy space. Beyond that, admiring glances are few and far between.
That's not altogether a bad thing. Ogling is unpleasant at best, terrifying at worst, and the line between them is anyone's to draw. Being noticed that way is akin to being judged, and often my book is much more interesting than my cover.
Yet, for some reason, today I was the recipient of random, admiring gazes.
It was lovely. It was weird. It was vaguely creepy, in a where am I who am I why is this happening way.
I thought I'd share it here and be done with it. I don't know that it requires analysis, but I can't seem to let it go.