Invisibility could be defined this way: an overweight, middle-aged, grey-haired woman.  I understand that many women find this offensive and not a desirable state but I beg to differ. I see the funniest things. Yesterday I was going to work and got on the elevator at the bottom of the parking structure beneath my building. On the next floor this young man (about 28 I think) got on. The elevator is mirrored – he walked past me as if compelled by his own image, as if he were in the privacy of his own bathroom, and started to preen.

He looked so much like a crane fussily smoothing his feathers I started to choke on my sip of coffee. He didn’t hear, he just kept smoothing bits of his hair across his brow, then fiddled with the set of his collar and nestled the knot in his russett tie (with delicate gold flecks) closer to the now perfect arch of his cream collar – all while staring at himself intently.

By the time he walked off the elevator on the main floor – he walked right past me as he moved out ahead of me – I was grinning broadly. He never noticed. Oh but I did. Who needs an invisibility cloak.