As middle-age women, we sometimes hit a point where we begin to feel the effects of what I call The Bermuda Triangle Age. The age where we notice we are ceasing to turn heads based solely on our fabulosity. The age where we can sometimes feel invisible.
And if you have young women for daughters, as I do, this effect is even more pronounced when you are out and about with them. One of the reasons I try never to enter a beach betwixt my two gorgeous girls. Not because of jealousy, but because I don’t want to be stoned by the young men eager to catch a glimpse of the gorgeous young things. “Get out of the way, luv, you’re obstructing the view.” That sort of thing.
Lois Wyse also said it well with this anecdote:
Age becomes reality when you hear someone refer to that attractive woman standing next to the woman in the green dress, and you find that you’re the one in the green dress.”
I was reminded of my Bermuda Triangle Age when out with my teenage daughter yesterday. She was trying on a winter coat in front of the shop floor’s full length mirror, hair floating out behind her, lithe body twisting and turning for a better view, with breasts facing due North, totally unaware of the stir she was causing. She looked the picture of youth and vitality, with nothing plastered on her face save a smile and cheeks naturally blushed ruddy by the brisk wind we had just come in from. She was a breathtaking picture.
Granted, I didn’t look too shoddy myself, but my face had less to do with Ma Nature than the:
- eye cream gunged in the night before
- moisturiser plastered on the morning after
- a shine reducer fixative, atop which
- light foundation, set with
- translucent powder and finished off with
- rosy blusher
- lick of mascara
- eyebrow pencil
- red lipstick, and a
- light spritz of mineral water
to look as though I had been naturally blushed ruddy by the brisk wind my daughter and I had just come in from.
However, I discovered there is an upside to the power of invisibility, since the guy on the Up escalator (who was now doubling back down the Up escalator to have another gawp at my daughter), had been clocked by me long before his second blink had opened again in our direction. By the time he had made his way to Ladies Coats, I had a full Identikit Profile committed to memory and I used my Super Power of Invisibility to throw a force field around my daughter as he inched closer.
I, therefore, no longer despair the age of invisibility, or dismiss it merely as being ‘their time’ to shine. I celebrate it as the gift it is. A gift from God to help us middle-aged caregivers protect our young from fox-like predators who, so fixated on their young prey, fail to notice the Grandmother in the room waiting to eat them up.
Go Super Power.