“Robert Redford isn’t quite as cute as he used to be,” I said as my husband Jerry, and I watched him interviewed on TV. I honestly was feeling very melancholy that his age was showing. I preferred remembering his handsome face in “The Way We Were,” and as “The Sundance Kid.”

The interview was over within seconds, and Jerry remarked, “Well, you know none of us are as cute as we used to be.” He said it so nonchalantly that it caught me completely off-guard. I sat on the foot of the bed stunned, thinking how much I hated those words.

I then went into my normal spiel of how I don’t feel any older, and other excuses I’ve fabricated the last few years. We bantered back and forth, all in good fun for several minutes. Just as I started to stand up, dear hubby made a very disturbing announcement. “Kathy, do you realize this year you will be twice the age you were when we met?” I felt like someone had hit me right over the head with a cast iron frying pan! I fell backwards onto the bed with my hands over my face, and made strange groaning sounds as I did some quick math in my head.

“Oh no – you’re right! Jerry, that’s the worst thing you’ve ever said to me in our entire married life,” I shrieked. “I can’t believe it. Don’t you know when to keep your mouth shut? Oh no – how did this happen? And just what is wrong with you anyway?”

I went to bed that night thinking about our conversation, and about aging. I tossed and turned; I flipped and flopped for hours trying to get to sleep. Being twice the age of anything is a disturbing thought, unless you’re lucky enough to still be under the age of,
say fifteen. What might be next – would he someday tell me I’m three times older than when we met? I finally decided I had to look on the bright side of things before this revelation made me crazy. After several days it finally came to me – there truly was a bright side. According to statistics, Jerry will probably never be able to tell me I’m three times older than when we met. Being six years older than I am, he will more than likely already be dead! If by chance he isn’t, he’d best never utter the dreaded “three” word or I’ll be moving out. It’s as simple as that. I’ll pound on that call button until the entire staff shows up in a panic. Once they wheel me into the nursing home administrator’s office, I’ll be demanding a private room in a different wing!

©2005 Kathleene S. Baker
Lnstrlady@aol.com