Nina, Pretty Ballerina

Every day in the morning on her way to the office
You can see her as she catches a train
Just a face among a million faces
Just another woman with no name
Not the girl you'd remember but she's still something special
If you knew her I am sure you'd agree
'Cause I know she's got a little secret
Friday evening she turns out to be
...
So she's back every morning to her work at the office
And another week to live in a dream
And another row of early mornings
In an almost never-ending stream
Doesn't talk very often, kind of shy and uncertain
Everybody seems to think she's a bore
But they wouldn't know her little secret
What her Friday night would have in store

I remember in the 70s we used to ask each other what our favorite ABBA song was. In the gay community DANCING QUEEN was always a hit. MAMA MIA became the name of a play. I always was a bit partial to Nina, Pretty Ballerina. In the days when I lived in New York City, I could remember riding a bus to a train and having this feeling of being totally anonymous. I wore relatively unexpressive clothing, kept my hair in its natural non-descript color and carried a cloth sac.
These days I drive around in a car that's 35 years old. Everyone recognizes me when I'm coming down the road. There's never a problem finding my car in a parking lot. Even my cell phone has the original factory ring (something that you only hear on TV shows).
This came to mind because that's how I sometimes feel when I am at work. I don't even bother to write my name in the hospital rooms' blackboards (they're not called blackboards anymore... I know).