I was shopping the other day when a lady looked me up and down, and then gave me what can only be described as a dirty look.
I’d forgotten such things existed. She caught my eye and held it, and then raised her eyebrows as her gaze went downwards.
I did have a moment of panic, right then, thinking I might have forgotten to take off my pyjamas. I do often go to the milk bar in them, early in the morning especially on weekends, to get the papers because what I want to do is go home and read the papers in bed. The other adult in this house will actually put on his clothes over his pyjamas, go to the shops, and then take off the outer layer when he gets home. I can’t be bothered with that kind of palaver so, yes, there was a moment of panic where I thought, hmm, am I actually dressed? Then I remembered that, of course, I was. The milk bar around the corner is one thing but I would never venture to the supermarket in sleepwear, although I have seen many people there in theirs, looking especially hungover as they order cooked chickens at 10am. And anyway, someone really should unpack just why we feel so stricken by the idea of wearing our sleepwear outside the house – if they’re Peter Alexander it should be OK, surely. Why the shame?
Anyhoo, the lady’s eyeball fest made me realise it’s been years since I’ve been handed a dirty look – especially one this delicious. She lingered on it, she held my gaze, she was stuck in the dirty-look moment.
I realised that one of the good things about getting older is this: people may not look at you any more, but if they’re not looking at you they’re also not giving you the evil eye.
It’s definitely an age thing. Five-year-olds don’t hold back on the stare-bears. Stand aside, adults, and watch the toddlers checking each other and their fairy costumes out. It’s like yeah, right, you’ve got a gelati, I’ve got a bike so, you know, blah blah blah. Teenagers hand out eye-ball razor blades all over the place in the shopping centres. One look can say a hell of a lot when you’re 15 and, like, so not into those skanky trainers.
I suspect us folk over 40 are too busy trying to decipher our own handwritten shopping lists to be bothered about checking each other out. We can get around like bag ladies if we feel like it because we are invisible to each other and the world, and I’m not complaining because I grew up in a town where a dirty look was a serious weapon. If someone flicked you one, it usually meant they thought you thought you were it-and-a-bit, that you were up yourself. In a small town, standing out or thinking you are hot doughnuts is generally not allowed. I’ll never forget the “you-stole-my-deb-partner” look someone gave me when I was a teen. It still feels like hot Chiko Roll heartburn pain on my memory.
I don’t know why the woman in the supermarket gave me a filthy. Maybe she just didn’t like the look of me. It happens. I’m OK with it. At least I was noticed.
