Dear Woman Wearing Sunglasses At Dance Class,


What is your story? Do you know that others are creating it as you dance, leap, twirl in your oversized impenetrable lenses?

Plastic surgery, they whisper.  Others concur.  Of a certain age.  Getting crinkly. They are absolute in their assessment: what else would lead anyone to do what you are doing?

Still, I look at your slight build, the bruise on your shoulder, and come up with another story.  I worry for you, and what is behind your glasses.  I wonder why anyone who has the courage to dance as you do doesn’t also have the courage to stand up to him.  To leave him.  To spin away from his dark embrace.

I tell another friend about this moment, the small drama, the tittering.  She says: Oh, they were probably just prescription sunglasses and she forgot her regular ones.  Like you do sometimes at parties that start at sunset.  Like you do at the grocery store.

Ahhhh, I think, somewhat ashamed, rewriting my own story.  This explains the looks of pity I always get at Whole Foods.

Very Sincerely,

Woman Who Jumps To Dark Conclusions