Here’s why I refuse to be jealous of beautiful women: The other day I was figuring out the Lord and His mysterious ways, and I concluded that He did not gift me with a beauty recognizable to anyone other than kindly church ladies because He knew that I would abuse it and become even lazier and a complete whore. (Evidently He knew Kim Kardashian could handle it.)
Never having had much to lose, I should not be too bothered by the aging process. But yesterday when I was getting myself all tarted up for church I was taken aback by how elderly my under-eye area looked now that we finally replaced the two burnt-out bulbs above our bathroom mirror. Not that I intend to do anything about it, as it is a mere drop in a really big bucket. Have you seen those repellent photos of diseased smokers that cigarette manufacturers may someday be forced to display on packaging? Slippery slope — I’m imagining a day when the backs of my bare thighs will be emblazoned on bags of Dove chocolates. “WARNING: This product may contribute to diabetes, heart disease, clogged arteries and shockingly large pants.”
Even so, I did manage to catch a husband, and he and I had our big anniversary date yesterday. We went to a movie in the early afternoon while Ella babysat and then took the kids to their grandparents’ while we went out to dinner. Which was very romantic except for the part where Maribeth’s crappy diaper leaked all over her bed and blanket (leading to Ella’s first diaper-changing experience), so in between the movie and dinner I had to change her crib bedding and wash her special blanket and make sure I got it in the dryer as soon as we got home so she would have it for bedtime. And that is what passes for a nice evening out when you have been married 18 years.
Let’s see Kim Kardashian handle that.