My Slow Transformation into Rice Krispies

I'm not the woman I used to be, as I now come with special sound effects

So, I’m out here dating again. The last time I was in the stupid, stupid, stupid dating world was when I was 31. I had a younger boyfriend then who referred to me as “the 31-year-old,” which made me sound like some kind of ancient pervy "Summer of ’42" sex fiend — which pretty much summed me up.

Of course, now that old boyfriend is looking at age 31 in his rearview mirror, himself. The last time I stalked him on Facebook he was married and had two kids. I think he’s 41 now, in fact.

What I am trying to say is I be old. And yet? Dating is just as fun and hot and scandalous and stupid, stupid, stupid as it was when I was barely into my 30s. The difference is, I can’t move anything this time around. Or if I do move it, it falls clean off me, practically.

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For example, when I was in my premarriage days, I’d go out drinking all night, follow that up with some chili cheese fries at a diner, then fall asleep on whoever’s floor was closest to said diner.

If I did any one of those things today, it’d kill me the whole next week. “No, I’m sorry, I can’t join you. I slept on a floor and now my spine is S-shaped.” “Nope. Had chili cheese fries at 2 a.m. and I have an urgent appointment with the pot all day.” If I drank all night? I wouldn’t even be able to come to the phone to tell you no.

When I get up in the morning, everything crickles now when I first get out of bed. CRICKLE CRICKLE CRICK! go my feet as I mince across the room. CRACKLE! as I stretch my arms. I mean, what is that? Are my bones being replaced by Rice Krispies?

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In the past five years, I’ve had horrific pain in my foot, sexy sciatica, this inexplicable itch on my left upper arm which, when I Googled, I found is common in middle-aged women and “might be related to emotions,” (did you ever notice any female maladies are always thought to be tied to emotions? MY EMOTIONS ARE FINE, MEDICAL WORLD! FINE! JUST LEAVE. ME. ALONE! {sob}), near-constant migraines due to hormone fluctuations and ever-increasing inability to read anything, ever, without reading glasses. Once I had to have the waiter read me the menu, because it was written in white ink on a black surface and you could’ve developed pictures in that dark restaurant.

And I’m not alone. I’m dating someone my age, and in the time I’ve known him, he’s been on crutches for his knee, has thrown out his back and currently cannot lift his arm. Try some passionate making out with someone who basically has no right arm. It trips things up. Not to mention he can’t dance to the YMCA song right now.

Still, I guess things could be worse. At least I get to attempt some passionate making out, as long as it’s before 9:30 when I get distinctly sleepy. It used to be I never even left the house till 10:00, and now 10:00 is when I call it a night.

And crackle in the morning.

Tags: aging