I cannot deny that I am a middle aged woman
I work in an office of one (me), which is situated at the bottom of a garden of a very large house, apart from me there is the housekeeper and the gardener.  We three meet over a cup of coffee or tea each lunch time as each of our jobs take us to different aspects of the house.  The boss, he spends most of his working day in and around London and only returns when the work is done.
So my only real connection with the outside world 9.30-5.30 is via phone or email.  Very rarely does anyone visit the house and should this occasion arise we always have at least a weeks’ notice.
Over the last couple of months I’ve had the need to communicate with a certain young man and even though our emails have always been friendly and jovial todays became somewhat flirtatious – believe it or not over a missing pencil.  The emails were banded back and forth with a small comment here and a cheeky remark there. Until it dawned on me that this young man did not realise that I am a happily married women and mother of 3.
As I giggled to myself walking to the ladies room – how a little bit of harmless flirting is good for the soul, however, upon looking at myself in the mirror I thanked god that all communications had been via email. – Because before me stood a much haggard person than I remembered.  The unkempt eyebrows, the long hair that once was my crowning glory, now no longer shined but instead showed vivid signs of grey and really needed someone to take a sharp pair of scissors and create some style and body into it, my eyes that wore no make-up shouted at the world how little sleep I’ve been having of late. And the once youthful skin now was dry and screamed out for moisture and all this really did actually tell my true age.
Oh well the happy thought had boosted myself esteem for a short while.

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