To Infinity And Beyond

Last night we spent Date Night at a Chinese Restaurant with another couple whom we’ve known for 12 years. It’s great to be with people you have a long history with. People with whom you can always pick up right where you left off. People with whom you feel safe that they know all your quirks and idiosyncrasies and weird family stories over the years, yet remain steadfast and true. Our relationship has stood the test of time, which feels really good.

So we ate Chinese (the Pot Stickers were to die for!…….as was the Cashew Shrimp and Beef with Peapods….gosh it was all so good) and we talked. When we first met this couple, their oldest child was in 1st grade. He is now in college. And as we talked about that, I began to realize that my friends were aging. They were now twelve years older than they were twelve years ago. How sad for them. And then as I took another bite of food, the tantalizing egg roll I had been previously enjoying now stuck in my throat like a lump of clay as the thought dawned on me; I AM AGING, TOO! Good Lord, I am getting older!

I stirred my jasmine tea compulsively, my ears now deaf to the pleasant conversation of my friends (“Wah wa wah wah waah”) , and tuning into a frequency that was my internal voice shrieking loudly, “YOU ARE OLD! YOU ARE OLD! YOU ARE OLD!”
And then I spoke a panicked monologue to myself for the next ten minutes, silently, which went something like this:

“Is 40 really the new 20, or is that just a marketing ploy by the cosmetics companies to make women feel good and believe there is hope in buying the latest anti-aging potion? What is an alpha-hydroxy, anyway?
And are my hands getting too veiny looking, screaming, "Middle Aged", and if so, should I just “go with it” or invest in dainty white gloves like a Fine Lady of 1910? Or would that be too obvious?
And Good Heavens, I think I just had a hot flash! Is menopause beginning tonight, or is just vasodilation from that last bite of the spicey Kung Pao Chicken?
Will I age like my mom’s side of the family, who stay beautiful and youthful-looking? Or like my dad’s side of the family who……...do not? Oh, dear God, whose genes do I have??!!
And, Nicole Kidman’s frozen features aside, how do I really feel about Botox? Or low-rise jeans? Am I getting too old to wear them? Should I now start investing my money in some practical old lady garments, like girdles? And high-waisted pantaloons??
Why don't I take these chopsticks and jamb them into my brain RIGHT NOW, putting an end to the bleakless future that is my old age??!"

And on and on I went inside my head, obsessively fretting, with Super Hubs and our friends cluelessly enjoying their dinner. And then someone passed me a cookie, and I opened my fortune, and it said this: “The joyfulness of a man prolongeth his days.”
And I snapped out of my narcissistic worriment and shamed myself. There is one certainty in my future; I will age no matter what. But I will try to do it with joy, as my fortune advised. So I ordered a round of plum wine and we toasted our future.