The Pants That Make Guys Say Hi To Me.
Sometime after we arrived solidly in middle age, Ben and I separately became aware that we each had become invisible to the opposite sex. You know, when you’re younger, guys or girls passing on the street meet your eyes, they smile. As you get older, you don’t look to strangers like someone they’d like to meet; you look like their dentist. I’m 48 and have had four kids. Ben is 53, somewhat overweight, and prematurely grey. We look like someone’s parents. He’s invisible to girls and I’m invisible to guys. It’s been that way for so long we can’t remember any other way.
Except that recently I picked up some black capri pants. They’re really sort of an exercise tight, I suppose, which is sort of funny if you know how long it’s been since I’ve seen the inside of the gym. But they’re comfortable, and rather form-fitting. Ben opened his eyes wide the first time he saw me in them. Those pants are very flattering, he said. And I caught him staring at my ass for the first time in years. Strange.
Then today I wore those same pants to the grocery store and noticed that suddenly I was visible to men. Every guy I encountered who wasn’t actually in the company of a woman smiled and said Hi to me. Not just senior citizens, either. Guys in their 20s, even. Seven or eight of them. At first I didn’t even realize it was me they were talking to, but unless they had imaginary friends, it was me. I hardly knew how to react anymore. After a few minutes I got the hang of a faint return smile and a quiet Hi back. It was insanely freaky.
Because, of course, I didn’t suddenly turn human. I didn’t suddenly turn female. I just put on some pants that made my ass look good. Those guys weren’t saying hi to me; they were saying hi to my ass. They didn’t even care, apparently, about the clearly fortysomething woman accompanying that ass. And I don’t know which is more pathetic: that fact, or how secretly pleased I was at the attention.
Meanwhile, of course, I’m buying seven more pairs of these pants and will not take them off until someone pries them off my cold, dead ass.
3 comments
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Krys (Cook) says:
Aren’t you going to share the brand name of those magic pants with the rest of us who are dealing with the fact that we are (gasp!) officially middle-aged. Rather than the invisibility factor, my husband and I always talk about how we’re now on the the slippery slope side of “over the hill.” I’ve told my daughter that in two years she WILL throw her dad and me an official “he’s 60, I’m 50″ party and I’d love to buy a pair of those magic pants to wear that day… (Since I’m having such a hard time finding a gown for my niece’s wedding that isn’t either intended for either (1) a 16-year-old going to her first dance or (2) a 70-something grandmother-of-the-bride… - hey, maybe I can wear black capris…)
Thursday, May 7, 2009 5:34 am
GoingLikeSixty says:
Show us your tramp stamp!
(and w00t for you…)
Thursday, May 7, 2009 5:58 am
Gretchen says:
Krys: They are Saucony capri running tights, but really any kind of capri tights will do. The key is that they taper below the knee instead of staying straight or flaring. The fabric gives ass support, and there is something about the below-the-knee length that makes you look a lot better than a full-length tight or legging. You do run a risk of looking like Peg Bundy, but if you avoid wearing leopard prints, cigarettes or big hair, you’ll be okay.
Monday, May 11, 2009 4:18 pm