It was supposed to get easier as one got older. I was a woman of the world. Confident. Experienced. Seductive. A woman unable to produce anything more than a half strangled "hello" or "good morning" whenever I passed him in the hall. A woman painfully aware of her flabby stomach, graying hair, the stench of unfulfilled dreams wafting around her like stale perfume.
And yet, he always smiled at me and said "How are you" every morning, and on several occasions I caught him gazing at me, at ME, from across the room. So I will do my best to bid farewell to self doubt and insecurity. To take a stand against those who indignantly state, "you've had your chance, you're too old for such a gift". Because it may never get easier. But if it were easier, it wouldn't be so highly prized.
