I Still Do

There's nothing like a wedding to get us old married folks to take a look at the state of our own unions. Sitting in the church, watching a young couple take their first steps down that unknown road of marital highs and lows, you can't help wondering if they have any idea what they're getting into. And how could they? No one knows what Paris is really like until they've actually been there no matter how many times they've seen it in the movies.

The priest, a jovial sort doing his best to emphasize the benefits of committing one's life to another human being, encouraged the bride and groom to communicate and compromise. You could see the glowing couple sharing knowing glances and tender touches as the priest continued to dispense his suggestions for the next fifty years of their lives. 'We've got this' their faces said. Maybe. But from the reactions of the longtime marrieds in attendance, who shared their own knowing glances as well as a few tender jabs in the ribcage anytime the priest hit a nerve, it was clear that it wasn't going to be as simple as Mr. and Mrs. Newlywed might think.

I was flying solo at this particular wedding; my better half had a previous commitment. After sitting through dozens of ceremonies during my nearly twenty-eight years of marriage, I've noticed that my reaction to the festivities has varied greatly. During those early years, I eagerly welcomed new members to "the club" with genuine smiles and congratulatory hugs. Later, when things were tough, it was all I could do to refrain from standing up and shouting, "DON'T DO IT. Whatever you think you're feeling, stop while you still can, strap on a pair of sneakers and head for the exit as fast as you possibly can." Then, there were the times when I'd get weepy, bemoaning the fact that I'd never feel that innocent, hopeful love present in couples that haven't yet had to deal with colicky babies, week-long business trips and forgotten anniversaries.

But this time was different. I didn't feel any of those responses. This time, I felt as much joy for myself as I did for the decked out couple walking down that aisle. My husband and I have made it through two kids, overseas moves, job changes, and menopause. We've struggled through financial disagreements, conflicting priorities and the occasional desire to hire a hit man. It hasn't been easy but getting to the place we are now has certainly been worth everything it took to get us here. I'm proud of us. And I wouldn't trade places with the newlyweds, even if I could.

But if they want to hand over those tickets to Cabo, I just might be persuaded to change my mind.

Sweet Temptations

Despite Cher's opinions to the contrary, getting older does have its benefits. At least it does for me. A former people pleaser, I no longer obsess about gaining everyone's approval. While I can't escape my natural tendency to worry, a few decades of experience have made it far easier to keep things in perspective. Best of all, I feel like I've learned a thing or two on the way to all these wrinkles. So, okay. Those are the good things. What's not so great is my body's insistence on displaying every calorie I ingest in places that are decidedly further south than they used to be.

Don't hate me but I used to be one of those people who could eat pretty much anything she wanted without the needle of the scale moving much. I should have appreciated that gift more. I should have embraced my good fortune before it ran out.

Most of the day, I'm in control. I'll make myself oatmeal or shredded wheat for breakfast. Then, I'll heat up a bowl of soup or toss a nice salad for lunch. So far, so good. Dinner's not much of a problem either. I've cut back on red meat, ditched the bread and loaded up on veggies. No, meal's are not usually the problem. It's when the sun goes down that my food demons come out to play. Take tonight, for example. All it took was a grocery store flyer with a picture of a chocolate chip cookie for me to pull out my trusty Kitchen Aid and mix up a batch of warm, gooey disks of temptation. Oh, I said they were a belated birthday treat for my husband but he and I both knew better. There was no doubt where those puppies were headed once they cleared that oven door. A cup of tea and one episode of Project Runway later, I had consumed seven of them. Seven.

So, now I'm about to sit on a giant rubber ball, make my way through one hundred crunches and twenty minutes of weight lifting in the hopes of undoing what I just did. There's got to be an easier way. Throwing out my mixer? Cancelling my newspaper subscription? No. I'm just going to have to avoid the combination of television and a comfy couch. Going to bed earlier might just do the trick. I wonder how my hubby will feel about an eight o'clock bedtime. At least, he'll finally be able to get his fair share of the cookies.

Am I the Only One?

I was standing in line at the local grocery store the other day when I noticed a grey-haired woman in a checkout line next to mine. She looked a little like my grandma with a frizzy beauty parlor bouffant and sensible shoes. Everything looked as it should until I glanced at her ankle. Right above her sensible shoes was a sunburst tattoo. And that's when I knew. Everyone in the entire world above the age of sixteen, now has at least one of these hideous monstrosities masquerading as artwork. I now have become something I thought was impossible - a rebel.

When my son did a paper in high school on the history of tattoos, he wrote about their use being previously confined to sailors and hardened criminals. Can someone please hurry up and build that time machine so I can be transported back to a time when that was true? I'm all for personal expression but why do I have to look at ugly green snakes crawling up middle-aged calves, barbed wire encircling the tricep of an otherwise beautiful bride, or unreadable words of sanskrit wisdom trailing down the back of a red carpet celebrity. Tattoos may have once been edgy; they may have once been daring but right now they have become something else. Boring.

So I guess I have one more thing to add to my things I know for sure list. I will never subject myself to another perm, I would rather have a root canal than spend five minutes with Paris Hilton or Kim Kardashian, and I will never, I repeat never, join the millions of people who think it's cool to have a tattoo. If you ask me, it's a whole lot cooler not to.