As I'm sitting there, in the salon, watching women of all sizes, shapes, ages and ethnicities come and go, something huge occurs to me: I'm going to get old.
I know, I know, it's one of those obvious things that generally occurs to everyone about the first time they hear a 'when I was your age' story from their parents, but, as it has been noted, I am special.
I just didn't realize I was quite this special.
A friend of mine commented the other day that several of his friends have made comments about pictures from the Beach Blast of me in a bikini, apparently something along the lines of how much I must work out or something. Let me explain that around that time frame, I was not a close aquaintance of the gym.
I wasn't even an associate.
We didn't get along.
Our relationship has become more and more intimate the more trouble I've had with various body parts crapping out on me, and the more I've struggled with my depression.
However, at some point today, specifically today and I'm not sure why, it really sunk in: eventually, I will be one of those women who's spent 40+ years in the same body, and, here's the kicker, it's what I do with that body now that's going to dictate if I'm one of those women that everyone looks at in the gym, or if I'm one of those women everyone looks at in the grocery store. If you've ever heard anyone make snide remarks about someone's weight, you already know what I'm talking about.
"She looks like she already had enough of that cheescake," they'll say as they peer into her shopping cart like it's their business.
I don't know what it was that made it sink in today. If I had to guess, it was a combination of the ego boost of catching a decent looking thirty-something officer checking me out in the gym the other day, the great feeling now that I've gotten a couple of my dental defects fixed that's making me want to actually SMILE in pictures, and the fact that I'm starting to actually realize that I could be taking better care of this body of mine, regardless of what others think.
The other piece to this is, holy crap, Ryan has already thought about this sort of thing (he's 36, don't tell me he hasn't thought about what getting older means) and he wants to be next to me when it happens. That's a lot of trust! I mean, really, think about that. This guy is marrying me, and by doing that it's not just a 'hey, I love you, so I'm going to marry you' line of thought. It's so much bigger than that. This guy is not only trusting me not to completely screw him over legally and emotionally, but he's trusting me to take care of myself well enough that I'll be there and be something he'll want to keep looking at, well, forever.
It makes everything else look so small!
....I know, it's about time, right?
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