walking through charlotte airport in aviator sunglasses and fedora pulled low, i received more stares and more groveling apologies from business men who cut in front of my path too closely, more overkill in the excuse me, i’m so sorry, sorry. i feel more comfortable hiding under sunglasses and a hat, but it seems to be a spectacle of sorts.

i can then only surmise what it was like to watch me reach my gate, plunk down between two air marshals, who, incidentally, were not so hush hush about the nuances of their job, and break out my fake ham sandwich and granola bar with gusto.
when i was younger, i used to behave in airports as though everyone was watching and judging me. i was desperate for it. now, when i get looks, i am slightly amused, and make a mental nod to the ten year old kelsey, who wanted so desperately to be like that girl walking with her head up and sunglasses in place.