i was minding my own business a few weeks ago when i got “the call” -- that dreaded1, shrill2 ringing of my telephone bearing news just short of a death in the family. it was a former high school classmate asking my assistance in our 20-year class reunion.
could it be 20 years already? i shuddered3. cold chills went up and down my spine4 as tiny beads5 of sweat popped out on my forehead. what had i done with my life the past 20 years? my mother told me i’d have to deal with this some day, but i had laughed it off, just like i laughed off those embarrassing pink plastic curlers she used to wear in her hair. (i picked up a set at a garage sale just last week. got a great deal on them, too!)
it’s amazing how a brief phone call can totally turn one’s life upside down. suddenly, i began hearing those 1970s songs (now known as “oldies”) in a different arrangement, realizing that mick jagger was over 50, “smoke on the water” n*r did make any sense at all, and my “seasons in the sun” had literally6 faded into oblivion. had the sun set on me already?
i glanced in the *ror. (okay, i stared in the *ed *ror.) i examined *ry tiny little crevice7 and pore, starting with my hairline, down past those patronizing “smile lines” to the base of my neck. no double chin yet, i thought.
the next few weeks were pure hell. each day began with a grueling training program -- a 6:30 a.m. run in a futile8 attempt to bounce off that unsightly baggage that had somehow accumulated on my thighs9 overnight. i went shopping for the perfect dress -- you know, the one that would make me look 20 years younger. i found out that they stopped selling them around 1975. three dresses later, i came to my senses. there was only one logical explanation: i was having a mid-life crisis.
i realized that the funny, crunching10 noise i heard each night as i climbed the stairs was really my knees. i had seriously considered adding potty training to my resume as one of my greatest accomplishments11. bran flakes12 had become a part of my daily routine -- and not because they were my favorite cereal. i held tupperware parties just so i could count how many friends i had.
life just hadn’t turned out the way i’d planned. sure, i was happy. i had a wonderful hu*and and two great kids in the center of my life. but somehow, working part-time as a secretary and mom hardly fit my definition of someone my classmates had voted as “most likely to succeed.” had i really wasted 20 years?
just about the time i was ready to throw in the towel and my invitation, my s*n-year old tapped me on the shoulder. “i love you, mom. give me a kiss.”
you know, i’m actually looking forward to the next 20 years.
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