Hi. It’s Me.
Actually, this is a cartoon rendering of me at our annual fundraiser, a “cocktail attire” event where I stood for three hours checking in volunteers and guests.
Along side my younger, thinner co-workers.
Single men attending the event, would flock to one of them in particular, bending her ear and lingering too long. She probably didn’t even notice as she’s taken and there to do her job.
It’s kinda comical to be on the older (and fatter) end of the entire office.
Mostly because it’s a very small example of what it’s like now when I go out to bars or to other social events. I’m now the mom who does not care if you find her attractive.
Not that I’ve stopped trying to look good. Or that I don’t get down about being overweight. It’s just not about anyone but me.
I’m sure a lot of my indifference is due to the fact that I’m in a relationship and am too tired and otherwise preoccupied with my kid to be concerned about whether or not someone is going to try and pick me up at a work event.
A past version of me would have been there feeling pretty sorry for myself. Or at the very least, eyeing eligible bachelors and sizing up my competition.
While I’m not quite middle-aged, nearing forty has made me keenly aware of a clock that keeps on ticking, adding a new age spot to my face, a new wrinkle, a new stretch mark that can’t be undone. Gravity and childbirth pulling everything down.
I watch my human capital decline as a woman “of a certain age” off the market, no need to be bothered with.
It’s a weird transition from sex object to non-factor, sort of like what Madonna recently said of how she was ignored and no longer considered a threat when she was married to Sean Penn. We are categorized and then treated accordingly based on our roles as women.
While I’m not a huge fan of getting older, there is something almost peaceful about giving less fucks when it comes to where I fall on a scale of one to ten.
I guess this is the slow march into obscurity.
(But I do hope I’m a cute Asian old lady.)