Tuesday, 19 February 2002 | Eye possession

Fifteen minutes after getting dressed this morning, there were three fresh holes in my newest pair of tights. Two of them made with my rather blunt and rather short fingernails while trying to get the things on, one made after getting hooked on one of the pointy red-and-yellow flames on my steering wheel cover. I guess my wearing skirt to work today was supposed to counter the haggard-looking head of hair that I wore with it. I have this habit of assuming no one in the office really notices what I look like, especially those in other generations. I remember being genuinely surprised when, just after changing my hair color, a man in his seventies commented on the change (incidentally, it was a neutral comment). I was equally surprised when my four-year-old nephew noticed my red streaks. I don't know why either should've surprised me—both can see perfectly fine. It's not like they're cats or anything (which can also see fine, but never seem to notice the color of my hair). Maybe I should make a point of remembering that my coworkers have eyes before I leave the house in the morning.