Yesterday I received a letter from my employer thanking me for my ten years’ service and for my ongoing hard work. After the initial panic wondering where my life has gone, I conceded I was chuffed to get the letter (frankly, a bit of praise and I’m anyone’s). However, the thanks for my “ongoing hard work” worried me slightly because I have been on maternity leave for the past five months. Have they not noticed I’m not there? What that says about my contribution to the office I don’t want to think about. (Mental note to self: must work on raising profile when return to work.)
It started me thinking about where else I’ve become invisible since becoming an aspiring yummy (but more often than not ragged) mummy. (Aside from, that is, generally not being seen anywhere in the evenings near pubs, restaurants, cinemas, wild drinking sessions, etc, etc.)
Muscular young men touting gym membership no longer approach me and I’m sure it’s not because they think (a) I get lots of exercise pushing a buggy, or (b) that I look great already. However, I was approached randomly in the street by a postnatal personal trainer. Once I’d stopped feeling fat and offended I signed up to her pilates class. Excellent saleswoman, targeting the vulnerable. In fact, almost Rogue Trader material although without the conning aspect as she was darned right I needed to get sweaty. Those gym boys could learn a thing or two from her.
The orange women on makeup counters now turn their laden lashes away from me. (No facial expressions though – why’s that?) But thank god. No more running the gauntlet as I try to get to the products deemed important in my household – mostly baby wipes, tissues and cheap concealer. I’m clearly seen as one of those women who have let themselves go and wouldn’t know the difference between this season’s colour palette and what colour their baby’s poo should be.
I even seem to get less spam now from over familiar Russians trying to sell me Viagra and penis enlargers. How could a woman in her mid-30s with two kids (including a 14-week-old) possibly be interested in sex? Max Gentleman often used to be in touch with his special offers and I do so miss him. Shame on you Max for your fickleness – it’s the lithe, blonde, buxom ones who don’t need you in the first place, you know!
To quote the original Invisible Man: “my problem was that I always tried to go in everyone’s way but my own”. So hurrah for saggy bottomed jeans, shaggy legs and ricecakes in your hair! And boo hiss to yummydom!