Facing the setting sun, I’m sitting at the northeast corner of the bar at Chico Feo, elevated by a bar stool and decking and looking down at a picnic table where White people in their early thirties chat. From this perspective, the attractive young blonde’s nose ring makes it look as if she has the sniffles, the metal of her nose ring glinting, looking like liquid. 

Bobby Burns’ immortal words come to mind:

O wad some Pow’r the giftie gie us
To see oursels as others see us!

But so what if from my angle it looks as if her nose is running?  It’s not. The fellow sitting across from her sees a remarkably good-looking hipster with brilliant white teeth. She’s smiling and nodding her head, reaching for her Samurai Sling, her nose ring merely a nose ring.

No thanks, Bobby Burns. I don’t want to see myself as others see me – as sporty codger, vain old man, yellow-toothed toper, dead-end hedonist, whatever. The actual problem of being a septuagenarian is that people don’t see you at all – you’re invisible ­– which reminds me of a string of Washington Post crossword puzzle clues I encountered a couple of Sundays ago.

33 Across: Nurse’s remark, continuing at 61 across

61 Across: See 33 across

85 Across: Physician’s response to the nurse

33 Across: doctor the invisible

61 Across: man is in the waiting room

85 Across: Tell him I can’t see him.

[groan]