12:52 a.m. Another business dinner has just been consumed, and I am happily back to work here. I am a good wife.

I watched the time leaching out of the afternoon, efficiently closed up shop, got all gussied up, fluffed my hair and fastened on a gold necklace. Made conversation, took small bites, drank some wine, but not too much wine.

And I've been feeling really under-appreciated these days.

Men rule the world. Have I pointed that out lately? Women who think they've got an equal shot at power are still in their 20s or 30s. The louder the protestations, the younger the protester. Women past 40 know the truth. Men rule the world. The woman's movement didn't succeed this last go-round, in case you haven't noticed. Maybe next time, ladies.

Not that I'm bitter. Not that it bothers me. I don't remember exactly when I realized that the brains and ambition that I was born with were laughingly packaged in a non-serious, flimsy vehicle that puffs up periodically and leaks and bruises easily. Don't think I don't appreciate the irony I embody. I laugh gently, and often. I know it's a cosmic joke.

It's just that sometimes I really wish someone would turn to me and ask me what *I* think about something, or what *I* do for a living, or what *I* hope or dream or even what I had for breakfast. Sometimes I think that for all my flashy earrings and jangly bracelets and tinkly laughs in all the right places, I am nonetheless the most invisible person in the world.

I excuse myself and go to the bathroom and take my sweet time because I am absolutely certain that I have not been missed.

It's hard work, sometimes, to be a really pleasant person. Often I am busy with my own messy little projects and uncouth behaviors when I realize that I'm running out of time and I have to quit what I'm doing and get ready to be public. In my particular case it usually means one solid hour of personal fussing and abluting, brushing and blowing-drying, depending on the humidity level.

I used to think that if I could just get a college degree, then I would be taken seriously. That didn't happen. Later I thought that if I could just get a book published, well by cracky, then people would gather 'round and take me seriously. Ha, I say to you now: ha.

Next I thought that it was because I still had young children, and maybe some of their Legoicity must have still been clinging to me long after dark, as cloying as the smell of Play-Doh. But it wasn't that. Or, maybe my hair was too blond. Or maybe it was because I was working for a small company and not a big corporation. Or maybe I needed a masters degree, or a law degree, or a badge, or a clipboard, or a standard-issue gun strapped to my thigh.

But you know what? As the years flow by, I have had to face certain facts. Certain people are not very important in the greater scheme of things. Certain people do not rock the boat or part the waters. I happen to be one of those people. I show up on time. I wear conservative clothing. I do not kick butt.

Did I ever think that I might one day rule the world? Sure I did. Back when I was paying teachers to lie to me, I used to believe every word they said. In that little level playing field that is the classroom, all things were possible. Only gravity or stupidity would hold you back, I thought -- not chromosomes.

But, it is not to be. No matter how many books I write or words I fling into the ethernet, if the room has any men in it, we women will turn to them and reflect their glory like so many little pale and waning moons. Oh, but I sound bitter. And I'm not. I am morbidly complacent.

I have reached a level of contentment with my lot in life. Really, I have. I can pretty much sleepwalk through most social engagements because it doesn't really matter what I say as long as I say it quickly and get out of the way. No need to be particularly clever anymore -- there will never be a quiz.

Plus, it's a very quiet life when no questions are asked and nothing is expected. I always get a nice doggie bag. I don't have to make promises that I can't keep, or promise to call first thing in the morning, or have my people contact their people. Igor has all the burdens of follow-up and the hopeless bulge of business cards and the endless round of return luncheons.

As for me, things are much simpler. I hang up my dress and gather up my story threads and pick up where I left off, here in my quiet, patient office.

As if nothing has happened. And nothing has happened. Again.