I check out other women on the train in the morning. I like see what they are wearing, if they’ve done their makeup and how, if their feet are covered in snow appropriate shoes. I also observe what they are reading, did they grab a Red Eye, have a book, or are they staring out the window in thought?
I’m most interested in the makeup though. I find women whose makeup if flawless fascinating. What time do they get up in the morning? I’m lucky if I get on tinted moisturizer and maybe a touch of rouge on my cheeks. I apply Blistex as soon as I get on the platform. I wear ugly but warm boots. My coats have seen better days. Same for my clothes.
The thing is though, I don’t feel overly bad about myself, I’m semi-comfortable with myself and all my flaws. I’m the least competitive person I know. Yet I find myself sizing up these women. Judging them. Wondering about their lives. I check for wedding rings and imagine what their lives are like. I often wonder how other people live. I’m fascinated by it. Maybe that’s why I like to read memoirs. I often wonder lately what sort of woman am I? But that’s probably a post for another day. For now, I’m just asking the questions.