Should be obvious by now that one of my secret pleasures is Nordic skiing, with or without canine companion. I have a variety of outfits, including my uncle Harry's 1970s vintage downhill racing bibs, made of spandex or something similar, which he donated to me when his belly grew too portly for this very snug-fitting garment. I like those because on the trail they make me look like I know what I'm doing (I do not) and because they have knee patches which are very nice in colder weather.
It was colder this last weekend and thusly I donned the navy "jet" pants, complemented by a pair of bright yellow (think lemon) ski boots. We dropped Colin of at the barber's with instructions to walk over to Target after being shorn, where we would pick him up. Pooch and I had a wonderful time in spite her repeated attempts to entangle me in the tow rope, and we managed two full laps at a decent clip on the Highland Golf Course track.
Back at the car I noticed that I forgot to pack the mobile phone which I had planned to use to reconnect with my offspring. No prob, I thought, I'll just walk to the Target customer service desk and call him from there, which I did. As I strode confidently across the parking lot I noticed a mom bending to her ten-year old pointing my way and talking to him behind her hand. Obviously I was not dressed for the occasion. Glances of this type came my way while I was on the premises. I was not intimidated, though and wore uncle Harry's trousers as a badge of honor.
When I was able to reach him, Colin had left already, allegedly because he was done with his shopping and did not want to wait around for me. The latter part I believe but I think he did not wait because he wanted to avoid being seen with his ol' man.
Conclusion: you are more prone to be noticed when you are in a sporting outfit than when you wear trousers with a crotch located at knee height, with nails, nose rings and other hardware stuck through various protuberances of your body, your hair in colors that cannot be found in nature, your skin adorned with pictures that would have made your second-grade teacher blush or with your belly-button exposed and your love-handles overrunning your too-tight jeans.
I think I will make a point to go shopping après-ski from now on, maybe I'll be famous one day!