I like to believe that within each and every one of us we have unique traits that allow us to stand out in a crowd, or at the very least, stop us from blending into a sea of sameness with our Lulu Lemon daywear, Canada Goose jackets, Uggs and beige hair. I’ve often fancied myself to be somewhat of a unicorn, I’ve even got the official I Am A Unicorn T-shirt, for further authentication.
But recently I’ve come to learn (in the most interesting of ways) that I am no unicorn. I am a type— a blonde, light eye, slim(ish), fashion-forward, on the other side of fifty who could be most often seen posing with a cocktail —type.
Now in most circumstances in life, this means nothing. A type? Who cares? What possible interest could this have more than some random stranger mistaking me for Brenda from Bethesda?
But wait.
Here’s where it gets interesting.
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