This post will be a surprise of
HOLY SQUIRRELS NUTS BATMAN
proportions to those of you who know me. Or think that they know me. I refer to it as my “Secret Super Power” because it is a better than a mask shaped like a bat and a leather suit with nipples (some people may disagree that anything could be better than a suit with nipples… Comic enthusiasts…sex fetish types. Etc etc etc). It’s the best super power ever because people simply don’t expect it from me. It is a disguise all the more powerful because people, based on knowledge of my obsessive stalking and PLEASE LOVE ME personality, would never ever imagine it.
I am invisible.
My neighbours reading this probably assumed I would say my Super Human Power was being able make the adjoining walls tremble with my booming, fuming, thunderous ROOOOAAAAR of rage. Like The Hulk.
Alex believes my Super Human Power to be X-Ray vision, as I shout through walls (making them tremble, making the neighbours think of The Hulk, and hopefully not Social Services),
“I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE DOING! PUT. THAT. BISCUIT. DOOOWWWWN!”
But I know, my actual Super Hero Power, is indeed being able to make myself disappear.
For example, no one can see me when…
1) It’s morning. The kids have already opened the lounge blinds. The high school walkers are already trudging begrudgingly to school along the road, alongside our house. And my bra is drying on the lounge radiator. And I am braless. And for some reason, pant-less whenever I am bra-less. It’s underwear camaraderie.
Like Indiana Jones as he eyeballs the antique artefact on the alter in the opening scenes of Raiders of the Lost Ark, I rub at my beard with my right hand…
LOOK DOWN AT THE FLOOR (I can’t see you, you can’t see me), COVER UP MY UPPER WOBBLIES WITH ONE ARM, COVER UP MY LOWER *whistles* WITH MY OTHER ARM, CROUCH DOWN ON MY HAUNCHES AND RAPIDLY SHUFFLE MY BODY FROM SIDE TO SIDE UNTIL I REACH THE RADIATOR. GRAB THE BRA. AND RETREAT. SHUFFLING BACKWARDS. WITH THE BRA, NOT ON MY BODY, BUT CLAMPED UNDER THE ARMPIT OF THE ARM THAT IS PROTECTING THE MODESTY OF THE BOOB THE BRA SHOULD BE CRADLING.
2) When I am walking along Han Solo and angrily recreating a conversation I had about 10 minutes ago, 10 minutes before I thought up the REALLY EXCELLENT RESPONSE I am now angrily chuntering to myself.
NO ONE can see my lips frantically yet minutely pursing in and out as I shoot looks of pure wrath and daggers at the empty air in front of me, my body tense and storming ahead with jerky rage.
3) It is 6.30am and it is raining I go running. I have not bothered to brush my teeth yet and have not bothered to paint on my eyebrows (I am ginger. Without drawing on my eyebrows I look like a big boiled egg, framed by a wispy, orange halo) and the suited and booted London commuters are waiting at the bus stop. My lack of eyebrows and respect for personal hygiene at this time of the day mean I simply sail past and am INVISIBLE to those people.
4) It is 10am, I got wet on the school run, it’s a Monday so I am a little more bloated and rotund in my unforgiving lycra from the weekend than I would be say on a Friday. And I have my sunglasses on. Can the people see me as I wobble and dry heave my way around the village? Of course not. I am avoiding eye contact by shielding my eyeballs behind cheap black plastic is the equivalent of Batman’s mask. My Batman’s cape is the high viz jacket I tie around my waist. This high viz jacket is not to help protect my bottom from being smacked into by the Audi TT emerging out of the early morning mist, but is instead to protect the eyeballs of the driver of the Audi TT as they emerge out of the mist and have to witness me running from behind, my buttocks wibbling and quivering like jelly. Or lumpy porridge being strained through a muslin cloth.
5) When it’s 3am and I check on the sleeping (sleeping? HA, what a JOKE!) children and peek out of their bedroom window to have a nosey at what’s going on. And am backlit by the glow of the children’s night-light, and yes, am naked again. No one can see me. Fact. Because it is NIGHT TIME! And it is dark outside. And I cannot see THEM.
6) When I am in the car and in still traffic and singing along passionately to my latest tune crush (at the moment, The Wire by Haim), palms of my hands pounding with out of tune enthusiasm on the steering wheel, eyes squinted shut with emotion face (I CAN STILL SEE THE ROAD AND IT IS TRAFFIC AT A STAND STILL, CALM DOWN. It’s not like I am doing 80 round a cul-de-sac and checking Facebook on my phone). Thrashing about, throwing my head back, singing the wrong words, face passionate and looking pained. You’d THINK people in the other cars could see me…like, the man in the Astra window-to-window next to mine, his face angled awkwardly in front of him and in line with 95% of the rest of his body, but ever so slightly at an angle where he could glance across if he wanted to…
But he isn’t. Because there is no point in him looking at me. No point for anyone.
Because I am INVISIBLE.
7) Running again. When I leave for my run too late in the day and the high school kids have all been kicked out an hour ago. The nerds (my like minded peers) have made a hasty retreat home to their homework and facebook, but the cool kids are skulking about pretending to inhale fag smoke and flirting with each other by not talking to each other but instead grabbing at each others back packs and searching for ways to make themselves noticeable and cool.
Ie, by picking on solo chubby runners that they can scream
“RUN FOREST RUN!”
Well, not this one.
(I ignore my ear holes)
8) When the postman rings the bell for a parcel delivery before 8am and I have not put on the mask the world requires me to wear (eyebrows and mascara – remember the egg?), and am wearing a really unflattering calf length fleecy dressing gown (form an orderly queue, fellas). Except for the arm which appears from around the door, ready to sign for said package, once it flaps about for a bit, blind, and is directed to the little sign-machine, the rest of me is simply
So, there you go. Everyone has a special power they are gifted with.
Mine is called DENIAL.