Invisible to who?

That’s the question that really matters when we’re talking about older women

Grace and Frankie, very, very visible – if you're looking

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Earlier this week I was hit on by a random bloke in a coffee shop. There are so many things wrong with this sentence, I hardly know where to start. Firstly and most importantly I was working. It was glaringly obvious I was working, short of putting up a sign saying WORKING. I was reading a book in preparation for an interview, I was frantically note-taking because I’d cut it a bit fine with the prep and, precisely to avoid anyone trying to make polite conversation, I had my EarPods in. (Pink noise on the Sleepsounds app – I’m listening to it now, it’s bloody brilliant for cutting out distraction, just not this particular distraction).

I was vaguely aware of someone in my peripheral vision because he and his bags sat closer than was strictly necessary, especially in a not-really-post-covid world, but I didn’t really see him.

“Lovely coffee.”

I’m sorry, what?

“Lovely coffee,” he repeated.

Apart from the originality bypass This was self-evidently not true. The coffee in this particular chain is fine, but it’s not worthy of comment. It’s chain coffee. It does the job. Same goes for the muffins.

I nod-shrugged and went back to the book. Then he said something else and when I didn’t respond (because I wasn't bloody listening), waved his hand in front of my face as if I wasn’t aware it was me he was trying to distract.