I’m Younger Than That Now
When I first decided to get healthy – exercising more and eating right – my husband was a bit perturbed. He wasn’t too happy about how much time I spent at the gym, and he was even less enthused about the amount of snacks in the pantry.
“You trying to be forty is going to make me crazy,” he said.
“Just be glad I’m not trying to be twenty,” I said.
But he had the right idea.
I decided to go for forty-six. That way I might not drive him completely insane and I could still be dramatically younger.
And it worked. After seventeen pounds and lots of zumba-ing – I am forty-six again.
And when I got to about fifty-three, my husband joined me.
Not at the gym – I didn’t make him that nuts – but on the eating healthy side.
He actually went to a nutritionist and started eating only healthy foods.
And he got younger too.
I may have shed fifteen years. He shed forty pounds and twenty years.
Now he likes that I am forty-six, since he is now forty-seven.
He thinks we should shoot for thirty.
As I reported a few weeks ago, my husband sweetly suggested that I could wear a bikini. (Okay, he may not have had the purest of motives, but he certainly got a good deal of mileage out of that compliment.) (And I got new pearls.)
And yesterday, he surprised me again.
We went for a ride to Kent, Connecticut. Kent is a quaint little town with a remarkable chocolatier, Belgique. In keeping with our new healthy lifestyle, we each had two very tiny truffles and some excellent coffee.
As we sat in the sun with our small treat, he said he liked my hair. This is extraordinary. Over the last twenty years, he has learned not to mention my hair, in true fear of making me cry. But I have gone blonder in my rediscovered youth and added about three inches of length, so my hair now skims my shoulders for the first time in my life.
My husband likes blondes. He likes platinum blondes as a matter of fact. But he hates visible roots. So I never went blonde. However, now that my roots are gray, I can go much lighter without that detested root line. (See? There IS a benefit to being old.)
I thanked him for the compliment, and promised him a nice reward, of course. “I’m liking it too,” I said. “But I can’t go any longer at my age.” (I want to be a youthful forty-six; I don’t particularly want to look like Dolly Parton’s flat-chested, albeit younger, sister.)
“Yes you can,” my husband said. “You can go a little longer.”
And here was the surprise.
He said, “If your hair was a little longer you could put it in a cute ponytail.”
He’s going for TWENTY!