MomMe TV Blog :: "The Silver Lining"

That’s right, I went and got artificial nails again.

And they look fabulous.

In my defense, in what other area of your life are you able to achieve perfection with an investment of only 45 minutes and $25 every two weeks? Especially at my age, it seems like money and time well spent.

I’ll admit that I have always been a little bit obsessed with achieving perfection. Of course, because of my short stature (barely five feet tall) I could never approximate the world’s view of perfection. My husband, Steve, reinforced that conclusion about ten years ago when we were in Texas visiting his parents and we went to see the Alamo. Besides all the interesting war memorabilia, they had replicas of the clothes that were worn and the beds and furniture used in the 1800s. We couldn’t help notice that people seemed significantly smaller back then.

Steve observed, “A hundred years ago, you would have been the perfect woman.”

What do you say to that? “Uh, thanks. I guess timing really is everything?” Or, “As opposed to now when I’m a freak?”

Truthfully, a hundred years ago I would have been hideous. I have been coloring my hair for so many years that I wonder if some of the dye has seeped into my brain. Instead of gray matter I might now have brown matter, or even highlighted matter. Without the aid of hair color, laser eye surgery, personal trainers, braces, body lotion and my manicurist, I would be a gray haired, dry skinned, crooked toothed, myopic, flabby little old lady with bad nails. I am grateful to the technology of today that allows me to continue to approximate the younger me, albeit with an increasingly larger investment. As Steve likes to say, “You’re the best Janice money can buy.” At least, I’m the best one he can afford.

Throughout my 20s and 30s I had the optimistic view that if I just added one more workout, twenty more crunches and gave up chocolate for a while, essentially becoming a more disciplined version of myself, I could get there. At times I got close, but I was never completely satisfied. Ironically, now that I am in my forties I would be ecstatic to look like my non-perfect 30 year old self.

In my forties I am finally coming to the realization that while perfection is a noble enough goal, it is not something for which I am destined. At this point I look at my exercise efforts like walking up a down escalator. I have to keep marching forward in order to stay in the same place.

However, now that I am in mid-life, I am beginning to understand the Mid Life Crisis. I hear about people having extramarital affairs. While I don’t condone it, I somewhat understand why. We are getting older, and we sometimes need reassurance that we are still attractive.

But I could never have an affair. Not because it is morally wrong, which I believe it is, and not because I love my husband, which I do.

I could never have an affair because I simply can’t keep a secret. If something as exciting as an affair were ever in my life, I would be bubbling up with excitement and mentally storing all the moments for a later retelling. And who better to tell then the person closest to me, my husband.

About a year ago, I was working out in the health club and noticed a man kept looking at me. As I moved around from one piece of equipment to another I would occasionally look up and catch his eye. I didn’t give it much thought until I looked up again and saw him approach me. I was caught completely off guard when he asked me out to lunch after my workout. I was so unprepared. I hadn’t been asked out in more than fifteen years.

I froze. The only thing I could think to say was, “I don’t eat lunch.” Not, “I’m married.” or “I am not available.” but “I don’t eat lunch.”

He looked at me strangely, “Well, let me know if you ever do.”

As he walked away, I was a little embarrassed by how clumsily I handled it, but giddy about still being found attractive. After all, I live 90% of my life among women and children, the other 10% around dogs and repairmen, and have little opportunity to feed my ego.

As I left the health club, the first thing I did was call Steve at work. “Yes,” I told his secretary, “This was important.” She pulled him out of a meeting.

“Honey, guess what? Some guy at the health club asked me out on a date. Can you believe it? What did I say? I said I don’t eat lunch. I know, pretty lame. Well I just thought I’d keep you informed. See ya later.”

Steve knows I can’t keep anything in, so he knows he has nothing to worry about.

So, a loyal, if imperfect, wife I remain, except of course for my perfect nails. But that’s OK. My gift to myself for my forties is self-acceptance. Where the romantic words I am looking for are, “You may not be perfect, but you’re perfect for me.”