I've been driving my husband absolutely bonkers. Over the past few months, as my sole caretaker, he's had a glimpse of what I'll be like in fifty years and he doesn't like it one bit. I'm crochety and cranky. I shuffle when I walk. I can't drive. And yet, I've still maintained impossibly high standards for Us.
He jokes that he feels sorry for our future children who will be left to take care of me when I'm really old.
This makes me burst into tears--not because he's calling me a pain in the ass (which I know full well I am), but because I can't be left to the wolves/our children who I will no doubt screw up in raising.
I have to be with my husband. For the rest of my life. Just cause he was born in the '70's (and I wasn't), and he has a y chromosome (and I don't), that doesn't mean that he gets to bow out early. I bawl my eyes out over mortality and the guarantee of separateness, regardless of who goes first...thus proving his point that:a) I ruin all his jokes and b) I'm an emotional basket case.
But despite my transformation into a cantankerous old broad, I know he still loves me. How? He stocked the fridge with Trader Joe's delicious rice pudding today! It's like a love sonnet sitting in the fridge. And, let me tell you: rice pudding is such a delight. Oh God, maybe I have become an old lady.