There is this new thing going on with the aging process and my eyes. I come from a long line of women who have bags above and below their eyes; because of that excellent genetic trait, I have always had an extra bit o' flesh around my eyes. I am one of those people that smiles, and their eyes disappear into the folds of flesh.
In the last few months Martin has stared at me for a few seconds and then he gently asks, "Have you been crying?"
"No? Why? Are you saying I have puffy eyes?"
And indeed, I do.
It seems I am growing an entire pound of flesh in the crease of my eyelid and the effect is that my eyes are puffy. I look like I have either been crying or that I need a really good long sleep.
The jokes on me though, because it is genetic--the bags, they are a-coming.
I am not sure how to handle this situation with my old man. I could shatter his illusions and simply say, "Get used to it baby, I am getting old and I am developing my eye bags. Give me a few years and I will look like I am smuggling cherry tomatoes."
Or I could say, "Yes, I have been crying. And it's something you did."
I am thinking that I could drop the yes I have been crying line a few times and I then I could say, "I have been crying because I am exhausted. I need a good rest. Perhaps the only way to relieve my baggy eyes is to let me have a vacation--send me somewhere that I can lay in the sunshine, get some massages and have cabana boys bringing me beverages and little platters of tasty food each time I look as though I am thirsty or hungry."
Ya know, even if the second excuse only worked once it would be totally worth it. Sure, he would realize that I had exxaggerated after the vacation was over--but who cares? Letting him send me on a eye bag removing vacation would be good a nice chance for him to feel as if he were doing something to renew his baggy eyed wife--
Shit, the man is married to me for life, I should let him have the illusion that my baggy eyes are a temporary situation and not just foreshadowing for the way his bride is going to age.
2 comments:
I'm waiting for Tom to realize that someday my ass will be the size of chicago like my mothers.
Ash, perhaps it is best that we allow them to live with the illusion that we won't turn into our mothers?
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