...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.