A Letter

My love,

Remember when we said we wanted to grow old together? Well, now that it's here, I'd like to renegotiate. I guess there's nothing to be done about the growing old part and I suppose it's better to grow old with someone than by one's self but it's not turning out they way I thought it would.

I thought it would be like a Cialis commercial. It would be all hazy lighting, walking hand in hand, smiling and looking younger than our years, with that sexy background music. (I swear to god, I hear that music in the grocery store and I get horny.)

But getting older isn't as pretty as it is in the brochure. Hair grows in places it didn't before. Like on my chin. That just shouldn't happen. And I shouldn't get acne anymore either. What's that all about? If there should be any benefit to getting older, I shouldn't get acne.

And it hurts, getting older. In more ways than one, I suppose. I look at younger people and think they have it coming. But I get cramps in my calves and feet which makes shoe shopping a particular chore (although, that alone has probably saved you hundreds of dollars). My stamina and flexibility aren't what they used to be. (I'm sorry about that but I had no idea we'd still be having sex at this age. Twenty years ago, the idea of old people having sex was gross. I guess it still is, come to think of it. So, moving on. . . .)

My elbows hurt now. Who's ever heard of that? Even as I write this I have ice packs strapped to both arms and I don't even play sports. I'm right handed so it makes sense that some sort of activity caused the problem. (Personally, I think it was vacuuming.) But the left? I have no idea what caused that. The only thing I do with the left arm is lug my purse around. (I wonder how much that thing weighs anyway.) The result is I'm now, literally, a two-fisted drinker because I can't lift even a glass a water to my lips without using two hands. (Note to self, get straws.)

And now my doctor wants me to send her a stool sample. In the mail. When I said I wanted to grow old with you, I wasn't signing up for that. (Neither was my mailman.)

In the end, though, you're still my best friend even if you're more annoying to be around. (I know you're getting older too but no one wants to hear about it.) And, I'm not really sure what can be done about this. We could pretend it isn't happening but that could be . . . shit, I hate it when I can't think of a word . . . perilous, if not lethal.

Damn, my alarm just went off. I need to go take a pill or something. Just wanted to let you know I still love you. Even if it means getting older with you.

xoxo