The invisible woman

Our columnist discovers that after women hit a certain age, it can become a matter of being heard and not seen

- AMANDA BLAIR

Last month, I complained about my car making noises. Screeching and bleeping and honking without anything to screech, bleep and honk about. Just indiscriminate noise that I seemed to have no control over. You may recall it really annoyed me.

This month, I'm complaining about noise of a different kind, equally annoying, equally uncontrollable. The noise appears to be age related. The machine has gotten old and is creaking and clunking.

However, one catch: The noise is not mechanical. The noise comes from me; from my actual body.

Every time I bend over, put my shoes on, get out of bed, pick something off the floor, reach for a towel in the linen press or put the dog on the lead, a noise comes out of me. Something deep that bubbles up, twists and rushes out with the force of a small cyclone.