A cloak of invisibility at the roller disco

Or how as women we start to feel invisible as we age

I’m at a roller disco in Westfield. My daughter has bought two friends with her for her birthday, and they’re roller skating whilst I watch. The music is loud and it’s crowded with an assortment of people. Dads taking their kids out for a few hours. Couples on dates. Teens. I’m knackered after a busy week of what feels like non-stop hustle. When I’m freelancing I find it hard to switch off but equally when I’m employed I’m the same. I’ve been worrying about money but at the same time spending more than I should. (isn’t this the way we live now). This roller disco place is not entirely relaxing either. There are tears. People falling over. Stressed parents (that classic thing of expectations of ‘this will be fun,’ versus the reality). There are two women who are obviously on dates with new men. They are so self conscious that it makes my heart ache. One of them can’t skate and her date pushes her along with both hands on her butt. She stands awkwardly with her legs at a strange angle like her waters have just broken.