Invisible

If anybody has caught up on her beauty sleep today, it's me. I've never slept so much in my entire life, but it felt so good, I just couldn't get myself out of my cosy bed. Were it not for the Mister screaming an "Ann Qum!" plenty and plenty of times, I think I would have stretched it out till tomorrow. How lazy, my mum would say. And how nice, I say. And it's Sunday evening again, which I hate again. Tomorrow won't be a good day just because it will be a Monday morning. Which is so silly I know, but then I don't exactly go to a non-silly place on Monday morning. It's a place when black tie would be appropriate, but I don't care so I go in jogging pants because they're comfortable. Jogging pants are perfect for disguise. Jogging pants somehow make me invisible, at least to one naked pair of eyes. And it's perfect for me because I really don't give a hoot whether I'm visible or invisible to one pair of naked eyes. I know that these eyes think I'm strange, so strange that they decide I am invisible, without standards. Well, I like it so much when these eyes sometimes get the shock of their life. It all goes to see (no pun included) how shallow a pair of eyes can be. I think they're not even connected to brain matter. Jogging pants do not mean stupid. In the same way as tight ludicrous pants do not mean clever. And I've learnt to ignore people who think I'm invisible. I've got a lovely wide back to turn which does the trick. At any rate I do not want attention from people whose incompetence runs high; people who think that an oak desk and a nameplate automatically makes them clever. Because I have a right to my opinion too. So I continue to act like a mouse because it suits me better that way. But I'm no mouse...