When you are fifty, you no longer live in Sexytown, but you have only driven ten miles away and you could walk back if you wanted to. When you are sixty, though, you are twenty miles outside of Sexytown. There's no getting back.
But then you put on a sexy wig and there you are, instantly back in Sexytown, and it's jarring.
This new long wig has transported me back, and the effect of seeing sexy hair combined with my zoom filter has affected my personality. I look at my "young" lush wavy hair and "young" filtered face and I act too young.
Just a little too flirty. Just touching my hair a bit much. (I twirled a curl the other day.)
I've found myself complimenting my male coworkers, but just one daily compliment per male coworker. Nothing really inappropriate, nothing I could be ashamed of even if I were ten years younger.
But I'm not ten years younger.
I might have to put this wig up in a matronly bun otherwise I'll do something indiscreet and I will be caught trespassing in Sexytown. I wish there was some locale where I could live happily between Sexytown and the ice floes.
(Also, the new wig that's doing this to me is now officially re-named Sexytown.)