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Invisible Me

I have a long standing joke with my wife that she has trouble seeing me.  

Shave off my beard?  Get a hair cut?  Those often escape her until someone else comments.  Sometimes days pass.

It leaves me laughing. I can stand in a store, watching her look for me. I've seen her look directly at me and then turn and look in a different direction? Does she not see me? Or is she pretending?

I once proved all of this with a friend. She who can't see me and I was out shopping with another couple. Husbands and wives separated, going into different directions, with agreement to meet at a specific place and time.  

My friend, Bob, and I were at the appointed place. I told him, "My wife has trouble seeing me.  Watch."  

He laughed. "My wife does, too." 

We then saw them.  They were about twenty-five yards away. The area was busy. But we watched and laughed as our wives looked in our direction for several seconds and then turned and looked somewhere else. 

This all came back this week. I was walking down for my coffee late Friday afternoon. My wife had been out at a meeting. Seeing our car coming toward me from the opposite direction, I began waving. As she came closer, I saw my wife's face. Then I saw her turn and watch someone walking on the other side of the street.  To be fair, the other person had their reddish orange sweatshirt held up over their head in a bizarre way;  I'd been watching them earlier.

I mentioned this episode to her.  She remembered the other person and acknowledged she hadn't seen me.  "You weren't the main attraction, babe."

Sure. I wasn't the main attraction. I know the truth.  

It was invisible me.

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