I’m waiting at the retail counter today with a handsome man in his 40’s.
I think I look pretty good today. I’ve managed to nicely camouflage my facial wrinkles with make-up shading, flash a brilliant smile, my gray hair professionally colored and highlighted to create the impression that I, too, am in my 40’s, and a chic, trendy outfit.
I am feeling confident.
We strike up a conversation, share a few laughs, and basically, kill the time, flirting harmlessly. As I shift to get something from my purse, out fall my glasses. Damn, will he notice they are bifocals? He tells me I have dropped my glasses. Great, maybe, he didn’t.
We continue our bantering, while wondering if this line will ever move. My mind runs along the lines of continuing this conversation over coffee.
Finally, the line begins to move, as we prepare to go our separate ways, he says, can I ask you something a bit personal? Sweet! Here comes the invitation, I think.
My Mom’s new in town and looking for friends, I think you two would really get along. Where do women of your age hang out?
POP! There goes the fully inflated balloon of my illusion.