“In everybody’s life there’s a point of no return. And in a very few cases, a point where you can’t go forward anymore. And when we reach that point, all we can do is quietly accept the fact. That’s how we survive.” ― Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore
Living Out Loud Series: Can’t Change the Fabric of Your Being!
Look, when I was a young girl, I would hang around my very young, debonair and dashing looking cousin, and his friends would mutter sardonically, “ who’s the nun” as I used to wrap my long locks into a nice tidy bun in the middle of my head. Oh dear, did I mentioned the black shoe polish that I pasted on my hair to make it look witch-fully black, never mind, the mess it created for me when the sun hit it, but that’s a whole different bowl of wax.
So, I consciously became a sophisticated young woman, however, friends of my college friends would ask them wryly, “who’s the headmistress” - back then, I flaunted my tresses as a carefully crafted bun at the apex of my neckline.
Now, a professional woman, mordantly, I can feel the faint diminished breath of a whisper coming from acquaintances of colleagues , “who’s the matron” - needless to say, an occupational hazard at best. No, I don’t wear a bun anymore, well, kind of – completes that cutting edge mien.
Visualize this, I would accompany these suave, dapper and handsome guys to restaurants, hangouts or clubs, sadly of course, very married colleagues. Yet, women on the prowl, assume that we are ‘not together’ and their acts of presumptuous audacity would be to come on to these guys, despite the fact that, we do look like a couple.
Here is the thing, I escort these very married colleagues of mine to night clubs to make sure that when inebriated or otherwise, improper behavior are curtailed - At the door, the bouncers would mockingly give me that where does Mom think she’s going optics. To add insult to injury, they would give me that once over glance, reserved for the undesirables, as if they were about to call the police for me being an over worked, haggard and aged looking thirty – something patron, image that –
Seriously, I have been involved with men, biblically speaking, in which I have had on occasions, bold faced women either handed him a note with their numbers on it or send drinks over- A stalagmite and stalactite moment, indeed!
Yes, if you are wondering, I have come to terms with my motherly sentimental term of endearment.
