Both
in our fifties, HoneyBunch and I met on an Internet dating site. It matched us by age and interests. We
married after three months, so there was no time for HB to learn the truth that
all of this was not natural beauty.
After
the wedding, I kept up appearances for a while by disappearing one day each
month to visit my hairdresser. It wasn’t
until I got sick and couldn’t keep my appointments did he learn the truth - I
dyed my hair, grew a healthy, robust unibrow, and had an unruly cowlick the
size of a Category 5 hurricane.
As
we near our eleventh anniversary, all my beauty secrets have been lain bare. All of this has been nothing more than
smoke and mirrors.
He
tries not to laugh each time I have had to prepare for a colonoscopy – smiling
at him one moment, running to the bathroom the next. He cautiously fed me
Sprite and soup the week I contracted the Asian flu – fluids went in and flowed
out from every orifice. Then there was the time I had my rotator cuff surgery
and I slept sitting up for six months, and learned to bathe and comb my hair
with the “good” arm. He helped me with the
contraption I had to wear that made me look like a cross between Igor and the
Hunchback of Notre Dame. There was no combing the cowlick during any of this.
As
I get older, it gets harder and harder to keep up all of this. Most often it
takes all the energy I have to look presentable, much less attractive, and nix
trying for sexy, so God bless HoneyBunch for sticking through it all.
While
I am confessing all my physical shortcomings, I might as well admit I snore
loud enough to set off a car alarm. I
have the propensity to lead when HB and I slow dance, and I have a serious milk
allergy that makes me no fun to be around.
Last
week I got a fever blister the size of Rhode Island.
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