Monday, Jan. 12, 2004
Dear Diary:

The lighting was subdued, romantic. Mellow, jazzy piano music made the perfect background soundtrack. Our server took our drink order and handed us each a menu.

I peered at mine. The spousal unit peered at his.

There was a pause. He looked at me over the top of his menu.

"Did you bring your glasses?"

"Um, no. Did you bring yours?"


"Can you read any of this?"


There we were having a belated, romantic anniversary dinner and we were going to have to ask our server to read the menu options to us. We both burst out laughing.

It's official. We can no longer leave the house without our reading glasses.

We Are Now Old Farts.

The only consolation in all this is that he's aging too, and so far we are equally farty. Wait. That didn't come out exactly as I wanted. What I meant to say is that our slide into decrepitude so far is fairly even. It would be incredibly painful for me if it wasn't, if bits of me started falling off faster than bits fall off him.

Before our dinner we went to see that Diane Keaton-Jack Nicholson movie "Something's Got To Give" which touches on all this. It's a sweet, funny romantic comedy with some delicious plot twists, but it picked at a few of my, uh, issues. You can certainly tell this movie was written by a woman in my age bracket.

Sure, Diane Keaton hasn't gone all Hollywood and had major Cher level cosmetic surgery, but she's also an amazingly well-preserved 50 something. Every week in the locker room of my gym I see women in their 20's whose goal would be to one day have a bod as firm as hers.

So when the pot-bellied, jowly, cellulite-butted Jack Nicholson (oh yes, you are treated to the sight of Jack Nicholson's naked butt in this movie) recoiled from the horror of accidentally seeing Ms. Keaton au naturel ... well, the scene is hilarious, but I was wincing while I laughed. Believe me, if a woman like that is considered a troll, there is very little hope for the rest of us ol' broads.

And see, that's the deal. It doesn't matter how old you get, you still want to feel that you are attractive. Fortunately, I'm married to a guy who has finely honed diplomatic skills and knows enough to tell me he still finds me cute, bless his little heart.

I am pointedly ignoring the fact that this same man can no longer see well enough to read a menu in a dimly lit restaurant.

But then, on the other hand ... neither can I, eh?


Mileage on the Marnometer: 22.15 piddling miles
Goal for 2004: 1,000 miles - 1609 kilometers

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