Or don’t. I seriously get caught up in whether I want the attention or not. In my 20’s, I lu-hu-huved a man rubber necking it to look my direction. It was a game of sorts. It boosted my ego to feel attractive to another man even though most of my adult life I have been completely unavailable. Tease.
But now it sort of gives me the creeps. Especially when I am with my kids. Then the hair stands up on the back of my neck. Chills run down my spine. “What are you looking at, buddy? Can’t you see I have kids? I am not single. Look at my wedding ring, you creep!”
Lately I have stopped wearing eye makeup except for when I want to put in the effort. It’s not that I don’t like eye makeup. I do. I would rather take the time straightening my hair than shadowing my eyes though. Plus, more creases are showing up in my eyelids and that just makes me mad right there.
But they still look. Sometimes I am flattered. Sometimes. Most of the time I want to run and hide or show off the snot stains that the kids wiped on my shoulder to appear less attractive and more like a tissue than a hot date. Ugh!
I don’t know what I’d do if they stopped looking. I know that someday they will. I’ll be old and gray and wrinkled. Gone will be the cuteness, the youth, the vitality, the perkiness, the bubbly me. Settled in my granny clothes, driving a shiny Cadillac (or Mercedes). Visiting my grandchildren. Baking and knitting. Perhaps gardening if I ever decide I like that kind of thing. Talking to the neighbors. Laughing with friends about the good ol’ days. Teasing my husband about what an old fart he’s become.
It’s alright. They can stop looking at me. I might actually like that. I would feel safer and less exposed. Fall into the background. Fade away.