I meant to blog about this before and forgot.
The weekend I moved, the ‘workers’ and I went for some scoff afterwards to The Quay at Poole. Quite spit ‘n’ sawdust. Nice food. We had a good time and stuffed our faces.
But I got stared at. Now, I’m used to being stared at. Whether it’s because I’m arsing about, being vocal, training, or just being generally gorgous, people stare. I blogged before about Mum commenting on that way back when I shaved my head.
And now I do have a shaved head, obviously, more people look, double take, even if it’s not a stare. Sometimes it is. Children are the loveliest as their eyes pop out of their head and they say in their perfectly hushed (use opposite) tones ‘Mummy, that lady has NO hair’.
I’ve been asked by children and adults alike ‘why’ or ‘if I’m on the mend’ and had ‘good lucks’ etc.
All of this, I think, if perfectly normal human behaviour and to be expected. People like a ‘norm’ and those that don’t conform need to be scrutinised. I am lucky, I guess, to be blessed with an attitiude that, generally, people don’t mean harm and it doesn’t bother me.
However, back at The Quay. There was this (fugly) woman at the table opposite who kept staring out of the corner of her eye ALL the way through lunch. Just at me, not us in general. It drove me nuts. Have a good stare and look away. Come and say something if you have a question. But don’t do the corner of the eye thing.
It wound me up so much, that as we left, I walked passed her, said something quite loud to Becs about being stared at. She said she’d noticed it and nearly said something, but didn’t want to make me paranoid. That was it!!!! I went back to her, leant over her and said ‘thank you very much for staring at me all the way through my lunch and making me paranoid’. I flicked my hair and stomped off. ‘I wasn’t’ was the pathetic wail I heard behind me. I didn’t.
So, guys. I’m not saying don’t stare. I do it. We all do it. But imagine what it’s like on the other end. Smile, say something, poke your tongue out, stick your finger up. But you ain’t Lady Diana so don’t try.
Here endeth the rant. I’m off for a mummy home made biscuit.