As Devoted Spouse drove away from the house Thursday morning in his little red Miata with the top down it occured to me that I have a dilemma. That car hit him around midlife – I call it his midlife crisis and I’m sure I have mentioned that while I wasn’t thrilled about the car I was at least thankful that he brought home a red car and not a 25 yr old red HEAD. His midlife crisis could have been so much more catastrophic so I don’t complain too much about how claustrophobic I feel every time I get in his car…about how the passenger seat hits me wrong and hurts like blazes by pressing on a nerve on the side of my delicate derrierre…or about how I don’t like the top down coz 1) I have long hair and can’t get the tangles combed out or 2) when you stop at a light there is always ONE danged bee and he’s always on MY side of the car or 3) it’s sooooo close to the ground a VW Bug is intimidating when it pulls up next to us or 4) it’s so loud I can’t hear myself think let alone carry on a conversation, or 5) my legs fit in fine but there’s no room for my purse or 6) it’s a stick and I can only drive automatics or 7) did I mention the claustrophobia part? No…I don’t have too many complaints….
But what about me? Don’t I get a midlife crisis too? I’ve hit midlife. Actually I think I’m a little past — oh no is there an expiration date on Midlife Crisis — puhleeeze tell me I haven’t missed it and I’m too late. I need a midlife crisis. I neeeeeed.
But what to do? I think the cabana boy and the surfer dude are out, (but that IS a nice picture isn’t it?) coz I’m pretty crazy about Devoted Spouse. (Wait, let’s just put him in a wetsuit….no this is getting dangerously close to TMI) And if I was brutally and painfully honest about this, I won’t go in the water past my knees anyway…there might be sharks or something. Plus I have very fair skin and I don’t tan; I burn like a lobster – so maybe running away to be a surfer isn’t the best idea.
Run away to Paris or Rome maybe? Aw crap on a crutch — I won’t get on an airplane and a boat trip would make me seasick, and I don’t think Greyhound has those destinations on their schedules… Nah, let’s keep thinking.
A hot black sexy sports car of my own? Nah – see above issues. This is difficult…
I know — I’ll go and replace Oprah when she retires and I’LL DO the talk show – but I would make it much funnier. Oh wait…then I’d have to compete with Ellen. Nah…that won’t work.
I need an agent and then go into acting – heaven knows I have enough lines on my face that any casting director would grab me for the part of the character actress — the older mom — the other woman? Nah, I’d burst into giggles. I’m afraid I’m more Phyllis Diller than Julia Roberts. Guess I won’t run away to Hollywood.
What can I do? I need suggestions people and I need them now before I just go and do something totally outrageous which may include Johnny Depp. Oh wait…that’s what I’m supposed to do isn’t it…nevermind…sigh