wondering (but not wandering)

This morning's sunshine and blue sky are begging me to go out and enjoy them, and I have no doubt that if one of the kids were here I would drag them out for a walk, but walking alone seems odd. I get funny looks, I am viewed with suspicion - yet all the time I am out alone, I have to view others with suspicion.

Is this person going to pounce and rob me of my phone - or worse? Does that person think I am a sad character with no friends? Where would I go? If I went missing - no one would know where to look for me. Would anyone look for me?

Is that large dog going to knock me over - or bite me on the bum. Perhaps I should carry a lead so that people think I too have a large dog, somewhere, off doing his own thing, but that will come bounding over to my rescue. Should I get a dog? Extreme when for the rest of the year it's likely to be grey or raining and I wouldn't want to go out.

Is it easier to just be a vegetable, and sit inside with a book - resenting each page because I want to be outside? Or should I just think - sod them all - all the other walkers with their dogs, their partners and their shared thoughts and experiences. I'll go, I'll feel the sun on my face, I'll watch the squirrels arguing, I'll hear the birds singing.

But if I do, the first unusual thing that I see will be wasted as there will be no one to share it with - just me. True - I could take a camera, the video camera perhaps - then if anything exciting happened, I'd have a record of it - and I could come home, to the emptiness, and relive the loneliness.

Or perhaps this good weather will clear up - and rain.

...grey

Odd isn’t it, when you realise that other people perceive you in a totally different way to the image you see in the mirror (or have in your head). In the space of a week I realise that I have become ‘Mrs Bland’. The first indication was last week when I was trying to think of a book character I could go dressed as for the ‘book character day’ at school – I had less than 24 hours to find a costume. One of my colleagues suggested I get some bunny ears (yes girls, we all have those, don’t we?!!) and go as a rabbit (from Watership Down) – well I don’t have a problem with that, but it was the killer comment, “You wear a lot of grey…”
Do I?
I didn’t think I did! My work trousers are brown, purple and black (that’s three different pairs by the way, before you have me locked up by the fashion police), my tops are various shades of purple, green, pink, aqua, blue, brown, red, etc. I own 2 jumpers a black one for funerals (too hot for school) and a blue one. I have some turquoise tops, a frog green fleece, I wear a lot of jeans. I have some exciting shocking pink bras, and my knickers are – well definitely NOT grey – some have Spongebob Squarepants on them – bright yellow with turquoise edging.
I own 2 grey items of clothing. A grey fleece which I haven’t worn over the winter (instead I’ve been wearing a greenish coloured coat), and a grey and silver stripy top I’ve worn once to school. I do have a grey winter coat, but that is mainly for funerals as it’s wool and a bit itchy.
You get my point. I do not wear a lot of grey. So this must mean I am a grey person. If I create the impression I am colourless, then my personality must be monochrome. I’ve become John Major.
Great.
Just to reinforce my apparent blandness, yesterday, when the husband came in from work he ignored me completely. He looked grim faced, and I thought (as you do), "Oh shit, what’s happened."
I was sitting on the settee reading. I’m not sure what I was wearing, but it wasn’t grey. Actually, I think it was jeans and my shocking pink tee shirt. It was a bit cold, so my legs and feet were covered with an orange, purple and pink blanket (Ikea). You would think, against the dark blue background of the settee, I’d have been fairly noticeable. In fact, it didn’t occur to me that he hadn’t seen me – I felt I was quite un-missable!
When he came into the lounge, I said, “Hello” – as one does.
He ignored me, so I repeated it, more loudly; “HELLO” I bellowed.
No response.
“Hello” – I tried a third time, but then he was gone – he went upstairs calling, “Hello? Hello?”
He came back in the lounge and looked straight at me, and visibly jumped – he obviously didn’t expect me to be there.
“Oh,” he said, “THERE you are.”
So that’s that then. When I turned 50 I became invisible; Gandalf the Grey; the blandest of the bland; washed-up and washed-out. I think I might get myself a blue rinse, or perhaps one of those purple or pink Mrs Slocum specials.