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My watch’s strap broke; it fell to the ground. Before I could pick it up, her 4 inch heels cracked its glass. She just stared at me, unapologetic. I stared from the shattered watch to her white face. Yes, white. Probably from a thick layer of foundation. I never really understood make up. As a child, I watched, bewildered, when my mother put foundation on her face before weddings or other fancy outings. The foundation never really made it to the neck. Just the face. Leaving the neck and face in two very different colour schemes. I was scared of my mother back then and even now. So I never asked her, ‘Why not the neck?’

I obviously couldn’t pop this question to this tall stranger. She didn’t seem scary but even my socially awkward self was sure it was inappropriate. Plus, there was the added disadvantage of staring at a strange woman for obscene amounts of time. Even if the one staring was a woman. It never really was polite. I got these stares often. Sometimes questionable ones trying to ascertain if I am a girl or not. Others wondering where one tattoo ends on the arm and where the other begins. So I learnt from experience that staring always made me uncomfortable.

I took my eyes off her soon enough. But my question remained unanswered.

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