I did know that (one day) you were coming to stay. I mean, you certainly made your intention very clear (I know… it’s not your fault- it’s in your contract). I just keep getting older each year. Five followed four as inexorably as fifty has followed forty and you, you just watched and waited. You didn’t leave much of a mark in those early years. Getting older didn’t equal aging back then. You let me roller skate and dance and have babies (and, in general, hop around like a crazy person) and I got a little complacent, unwary, even (dare I say it?) forgetful of your promise but you were there packing your bags; organizing your socks; planning to move in right from the beginning. You left more obvious calling cards as each decade passed. You even left your belongings lying about as you passed through while dropping off letters of intent.
I suspected it was you (you do lack subtlety you know) when, in my thirties, my left knee (you know the one I banged up in that bike accident) flared up more frequently and never really flared back down. I was pretty sure it was you in my forties banging around in all my joints and taking some of the pleasure out of Thai food and now, in my fifties- well, I know it’s you: all moved in and making house room.
I get it. You’re here. You reserved space years ago and you have settled in. I accept your presence in aching joints (those joints have done yeomen service- they get to complain) and graying hair (my love affair with Clairol- that’s your fault too). You even have a sense of humor (which I do appreciate). I mean, I know it was pretty hilarious when I penciled my eyebrows purple because I couldn’t read the label without my glasses and we can’t discuss hilarity without bringing up the toothpaste/Vagisil fiasco (take my advice here: DO NOT MAKE THAT MISTAKE). It’s also you that makes me say things like: “You know! That actress that was in that movie about that woman who did that thing… I know you know! It was adapted by that guy who wrote that book.”
I get it. I had my turn at the other stuff and now it’s my turn to entertain you. I do understand that part but answer me this: Who told you that you could redecorate? What kind of guest moves the furniture and hangs new curtains? It’s just plain rude.
Not a day goes by that, upon stepping out of the shower and seeing my unclothed self in the mirror (I actually don’t recommend this to the uninitiated or the faint of heart), I don’t wonder: “When did THAT happen?” and talk about hanging new curtains! Have you seen my- well, no, we won’t go there- I digress.
So, anyway Aging (old buddy, old pal) could we make a deal here? I’ll step up the Advil consumption for the knees and I’ll put reading glasses in every room in the house if you’ll lay off on the painting and wall papering and leave the larger items in place for just a little bit longer.