You lookin' at me? Uh, no.

I can remember how waves of panic would instantly flow through me on a Saturday when, as a teen, my dad would unexpectedly announce an immediate trip to Rickel Home Center.  Rickel did not enjoy the same popularity that, say, Lowe's or Home Depot currently does, but it certainly was a forerunner for those mega home improvement centers of today. 

 

In today's times, one may run into any number of known associates, friends or neighbors when strolling up and down the aisles of these local do-it-yourself behemoths.  Back in the day, it was generally just the Mr. Fix-its – those who held a subscription to Popular Mechanics and the like – that frequented a store such as Rickel.  

 

The departure announcement to Rickel was like a death knell to me – I did not like going to that store.  See, being of the female persuasion (warning: gender stereotype coming up), I cannot relate to, nor understand, how someone can take 15 minutes (an eternity to a kid) to make a decision between one bolt or another, between one type of putty or another, between one gasket or another.  As a teenage girl, a quarter of an hour is too long a time to spend pacing the O-Ring aisle while expressing disinterest with dramatic repetitive sighing. 

 

The only thing that could have made those trips more unbearable would have been to run into someone I knew, someone from school – or worse, a boy from school.  And although that generally did not happen, there was one occasion, however, when it did.  Being caught in such an uncool place as Rickel was bad enough, but to be there unshowered, without make-up, with greasy Farrah Fawcett wings, killing time near the toilets and be seen by John Murphy (my future prom date) well, that's truly the stuff nightmares are made of.  Oh, the horror.  

 

Now, it's completely possible an experience like that could mold a person's future behavior.  One could become an early riser, for example, up by dawn, showered and dressed, ready for anything – at any time.  Or, perhaps just the opposite could occur.  One might come away from such an experience giving up any regard for all personal appearances whatsoever.  For me, it didn't really have either of those effects.  I was unchanged – hence the aforementioned waves of panic caused by these impromptu trips to the store. 

 

But see, as we get older, we know when we're going out; and as an adult, we're generally put together in such a way that's deemed appropriate for public appearance.  We don't go out in our PJs, for example – no matter how comfy or 'lounge-wear' like they may be – we just don't do it.  But does that mean hair and make-up are always perfect?  Not for me, it doesn't. 

 

One day, as I was getting out of my car at the Post Office, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror and actually said to myself, out loud, "It'd be nice if I cared just a little bit more about my appearance."  Then, closing the door and seeing my image again in the car window, I added, "Or… at all."  See, for me, time management always trumps vanity.  I went in and out of the PO unnoticed. 

 

Most times, I think it's like that.  People just really aren't looking at us the way we think they are.  Don't believe me?  Did you ever run into a previously bearded man after he just shaved?  When seen for the first time, most people don't realize that the beard is gone.  All they know is something is different.  New shirt?  Hair cut?  What is it? 

 

I, myself, had – keyword there, had – very long hair.  It fell to well below my mid back.  In fact, when pulled in front of me, it covered both boobs like Pocahontas with her braids undone.  It became a nuisance at that length and I had six inches cut off.  Six inches – that's half a foot.  NO ONE noticed. 

 

Speaking of boobs, a woman I know just had an augmentation – that's very popular out here.  Hers was tastefully done; a lift with some fullness restoration – the right size for her frame.  She told me that no one really noticed – no one said a word.  I actually think if it's done right you shouldn't notice.  Let's be real, it shouldn't look like balloons are pushing up your clavicles.  Maybe some people did notice, but were just being polite.  Perhaps some just felt too awkward casually saying, "Hey, nice boob job."  I don't know.

 

I even read an article about this kind of thing once.  A group of people were sent in to different social environments wearing Barry Manilow concert T-shirts.  Most of the participants were initially horrified when shown what they'd be wearing and had reservations about even continuing with the experiment.  Poor Barry, how did that ever happen to him?  That's not the point, but it was the point behind the experiment – sort of.  The end result was that the majority of people surveyed, when asked to describe what the 'test subjects' were wearing had no idea.  The closest anyone got was a concert T-shirt of some sort.   

 

See, people just aren't paying any attention to us.  Let's face it; unless you're a bride walking down the aisle, all eyes are not on you.  Isn't that liberating?  It is to me. 

 

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to twist my hair up into a clip and head out to Lowe's.

 

Just being me…

 - M