It wasn't until the nurse practioner pointed it out last week that it dawned on me.
I've become Phyllis Vining.
I worked with Phyllis a very brief time around 1995. She was hired to sell ads at the paper I worked for and from the time she walked in the door, I knew she was different.
I thought she was elderly back then-now I realize she was probably mid-50s but in her mind Phyllis was no more than 25-only the lines around her eyes gave away her secret.
Phyllis wore outlandish mod clothes for a rural community. She had acrylic nails, Charles Nelson Reilly tinted glasses and short hair that was spiked stiff with some sort of freeze.
She clomped through the office in clogs and the echo of the score of bracelets she wore preceded her entrance into the room.
She was a character and I adored her. Unfortunately the 65-year-old editor didn't and neither did the female publisher or the 55-year-old reporter. In a short time, Phyllis was fired with the only explanation being, "You're not what we're looking for."
Some of us knew though it was her character-like ways that got her in dutch with the management.
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