There are people that you meet in your life, and you are immediately and forever best friends - like, you share sweaters and eyeliner and might could be persuaded to swap husbands.
(This isn't that kind of post.)
There are people you meet in your life that you fervently hope will go far, far away - but they never get the hint and they are always and forever with you. Kind of like toe fungus - have you ever tried to get rid of that stuff? Or that warped Tupperware lid I know I've tossed out ten times.
And then there are those peeps you get to know online, but you've never seen them face to face - for all you know, they could really secretly be a 15 year old hairy ax murderer living in their mama's basement. But, despite that, you think to yourself, "If I could just get in the car and drive, I'd be close to her house and we could have coffee together and eat too many Greek cookies and gossip for hours. Maybe we'd braid each other's hair - or maybe we'd just get really drunk together and make slovenly fools of ourselves in public and humiliate our children. We'd make MEMORIES together!"
Such is my good friend, who I've never met, Becki.
And she wrote , this post that tied in so perfectly with what has become a veritable shit storm in my own life that I had to beg her permission to riff on her topic.
I've noticed something. I'm over 40 now, 43 to be precise - what? I don't care, it's just a number, and the alternative is to be forever a younger number, so I'm cool with whatever that number is - and my husband is closing in quickly on a decade that is not the decade that follows my own upcoming (although somewhat farther away, by, say, A LOT) decade - and getting older means that your body, you know, gets older too.
And he's just NOT buying that.
He's had three large and scary health crises occur in his family of origin, and they finally scared him enough to go to the doctor. Well, no. They scared him enough that he mentioned a desire to visit the office of a physician at some point in his next year, and I snarkily came back with, "Well, your life insurance IS paid up...."
I'm a lot of fun at parties, I tell you what.
But. I made the appointment. We went together to seek the services of a physican who is a friend of ours, a neighbor,
and also, apparently, a reader here. Oops. And, hi.
The blood work was done, the requisite tests performed, and all came back clean and clear. His neck - my husband's, not the doctor/neighbor - is giving him a bit of pain, and he was diagnosed with a smidgen of degenerative disc.
In other words, you are getting older and so is your neck, dude. He's NOT buying it. At many given times, he's had me massage it, rub lotion on it, and he's taken to asking me if I feel something wrong in there. Like, really wrong. He was offered therapy, but declined it, as he doesn't feel like it's helpful.
I told him it's because he's getting older.
He didn't like that.
But that's the honest truth. Bodies break down after about 40, or maybe 35. Yeah, about 35. That was when I developed a hernia, and was diagnosed with stage 2 melanoma, and my periods ran amuck for an uber insane amount of ridiculousness. And I've noticed other things too - I don't have the stamina, the desire, the energy I once had, the bladder control (sorry, tmi!), the flat out interest in stuff. My patience has disappeared, along with my ability to tolerate bullshit -
oh, wait. I dunno if that has anything to do with age. I have to work a LOT harder at pretending like I actually care about some things, that's for certain. That's probably just me, though. I'm a broken person, a flawed person, a person who is missing several key things. The cool thing, though, is that my husband likes me, missing pieces and all, and he's got those things that I'm missing in plentitude - and he's willing to share. He doesn't even SEE those jacked up parts of me - the missing, flawed areas that are all I can focus on some days.
And that, my friends, is a beautiful thing, no matter what your age.