Posted by: foodtalker | November 13, 2010

lose lose

There are some days I just don’t want to be seen.  Those are the days I feel fat, old, ugly and out of sorts.  The only problem is I have little control over their scheduling.  They just seem to occur at random.  I can go to bed feeling thin, youthful, and upbeat only to undergo some evil metamorphosis in the night and wake up quite the hag from hell.

Sometimes, to make myself feel better, I’ll think of a random celebrity.  Charlotte Rampling for instance.  I’ve always wanted to be her.  I’ve seen pictures of her in a ratty crumpled raincoat, no make-up, hair unbrushed, big dark glasses, looking grumpy and I can tell she’s been caught on a day when she’s not wanting to be seen.  I empathise because the last thing I’d want is someone taking my photograph and having it end up in a magazine for all the world to see.  But the empathy doesn’t last long.  Because I only wish I looked like her on her worst day.  She still manages to look outrageously sexy in a rubbish mackintosh.  And anyway, if she’s unhappy about it she can always go to her pad in Paris and soak in a tub of money. 

Some days my feelings aren’t imaginary.  For example earlier this week I had extensive dental work done – a three hour session being used as a dart board for Novocain.  The next several days I truly looked like some character from The Planet of the Apes, and it wasn’t that pretty girl playing opposite Charlton Heston.  

The only thing worse than running into someone when I don’t want to be seen, is being seen by someone without knowing it.  Yesterday I got home and there was a message on my answering machine from a friend.

“I saw you,” he said, “downtown on Main”. 

I called him back.  “Why didn’t you say hello?”  I asked.  He told me he was running late for a meeting.  No doubt.  But I had a more pressing issue to raise.  I was worried he’d seen me on one of my ape lookalike days.  So I asked:  “What was I wearing?” 

He told me I was all in black.  A colour that had seemed fitting earlier that day.  I felt myself sinking.  But confident that my outfit was sufficiently generic I did the only rational thing I could think of.  I lied.  “That wasn’t me,” I said. 

He was silent.  “Really?  It looked just like you.” 

“Nope,” I said, “I don’t think so.”  “Really?” he repeated.  “You weren’t head down with your collar turned up racing down Main Street yesterday?” 

Racing? No, that couldn’t possibly have been me I told him. 

“Really?” he said for the third time.  “Are you sure?”  I replied: “Yes, I’m sure.”  Now I was beginning to get irritated.  He sounded like he didn’t believe me or something. 

“Where were you?” I asked.  He said he was across the street.  I pointed out that in which case he probably wasn’t near enough to get a good look, especially as the person was “racing”.  Finally, after a few minutes spent convincing him that it was a case of mistaken identity, he capitulated.  Then he said: “Well, whoever it was, she looked really pretty.  But I guess it wasn’t you.”



  1. Honey, you and Charlotte R have a lot in common, rumply or not! lol

  2. When traveling in Syria recently, I was amazed by how comfortably invisible I felt wearing a black abayah and a scarf. Of course, such an outfit might make a person more conspicuous here.

    But, to not be seen:

    1. Conceal your hair (scarves like Queen Elizabeth’s, or baseball caps, etc.)

    2. Wear large dark glasses

    3. Don nondescript, figure-concealing clothes

    4. Keep a sharp lookout and flee if you see anyone you know. If you are alert, you will see them before they see you.

    Vanishing is an art!

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