I never get hit on. Not ever. It’s a fact that probably makes my husband very comfortable and one that doesn’t really bother me. It’s not like I want to be hit on or flirted with, I don’t think I would even know what to do. I’ve been out of the dating racket for longer than I was in it and I have zero interest in going back.
I hear stories about women who run around on their husbands or who get divorced and are suddenly dating all over the place and I don’t know how it happens. Because seriously, no one ever flirts with me. Not even waiters angling for a big tip. No one. Not ever. Where are all these men that are hitting on 40-year-old, married women? Every man I know is married, usually to someone much better looking than me. Or at least someone who doesn’t still wear her hair in a scrunchy. My friend and I had a long discussion about it today, she thinks I’m just oblivious to it. She thinks I’m too busy telling Jackson to stop climbing on things and trying to get John to not dress like a hobo to notice that men do flirt with me. But I think she’s wrong.
It might have something to do with the luggage I have under my eyes. Or the fact that I spend most of my days looking tired and angry. In all honesty I don’t just look tired and angry, I feel tired and angry. I’m angry because I’m tired. And I’m never not tired, so I’m pretty much always angry. I guess it shows. Perhaps the wedding ring combined with the four kids and the look on my face that says, “if one more person talks to me I’m going to throat punch them” keeps all the potential skeevy suitors away.
I’m thinking maybe I need to reinvent myself, first thing to go are the hair scrunchies. Maybe I won’t wear yoga pants every day. Or go to the commissary after the gym, when my hair looks like a rats nest and smells like pre-menopausal sweat. Perhaps I’ll spend more than ten minutes doing both my hair and my make-up. Maybe I’ll give them ten minutes each. Nearly half an hour on personal upkeep has to turn some heads, right? I could get a manicure, I read once that hands are the first thing men notice about a woman. I’m still going with boobs, but maybe some nail polish wouldn’t hurt.
I don’t want anyone to hit on me. Or flirt with me. Yuck, don’t be gross. But it would be nice to know I wasn’t invisible Or worse, totally visible as that crazy lady with the four kids and her hair in a scrunchy. I wonder if a nice manicure and big hoots negates the scrunchy, because seriously I don’t think I can give up scrunchies. What if they’re the source of all my power? Maybe that’s what keeps men from hitting on me. Scrunchies are probably saving my marriage.