When I look at a picture of myself at sixteen, I can now see past my teenage insecurities and understand why men took a second look after they passed me by. My skin glowed with youth, my eyes were clear as blue crystals and my hair shone like a damn halo. Somehow, I didn’t see all that. I saw only my imperfections.
Now as someone well past 50, my skin is not dewy, and my hair does not glow without the help of products. Lots of products. Men rarely take a second look. I am so ok with that. I have never been more comfortable in this body. Yes, I have crows feet, and clear indicators of birthing and breastfeeding three children (moms out there, you know what I am talking about!). Sure, I would like a “touch up” to some of these things, but mostly I appreciate this physical roadmap of my life and the story it tells.
The cool thing that comes along with confident aging is that, much to my kids’ dismay, I am fearless in talking to strangers. If there is something fabulous about them, I am compelled to let them know. So, the other day at CVS when I saw this Greek God kneeling down to grab something off the shelf, I blurted out my initial thoughts on his magnificence. “Wow! You are ridiculous!” He stood up, maybe a bit confused — either he wasn’t sure what magnificence I was referring to, or he was wondering if the bold lady pushing 60 was hitting on him. (For the record, I was not).
Words kept tumbling out of my mouth. I couldn’t stop them. Maybe this was a side effect of too many months cooped up at home? I said, “Clearly you work out, you are perfect!” I swear to all of you there were no intentions on my part (am I protesting too much?).
He stood up smiling, his sparkly eyes locked on mine, put his hand out and introduced himself. “Hi, I’m Danny.” Side note, I heard Apollo.
Now I was the confused one. Expecting a sheepish grin and maybe a thanks, he had gone bold. That breezy attention I had targeted on him (ok maybe it was more like hurricane levels) was now being mirrored back to me, and suddenly I was unsteady on my feet. Was it possible this young thirty-something prize of a man was dipping his toe into flirty territory?
The profuse sweating began. It was more than this aging mom of three could handle. He asked if I lived nearby. Gulp. I prayed he couldn’t hear the drums playing at full amplitude in my chest. But after some small talk, the puzzle pieces began to come together. He revealed he was a personal trainer which totally made sense. I assumed he was looking for new clients and I was his target market. Still, that did nothing abate my fight or flight response!
I started babbling nonsense about how I had been working on my abs. Heavy sigh, yup, I said this as I pointed to my abdominal region under my dull mom sweater. To my horror, he moved closer with his arm reaching toward me to confirm my ab status. I am embarrassed to admit that I not only took a step back but tightened my abs just in case he reached his target.
“I would love to work you out sometime,” he said.
Now I was desperately fanning myself with both hands (this is literal, not figurative). In a high-pitched, panic-stricken voice, I replied, “Are we still talking about fitness?!”
Things to a turn for the worse as I struggled to breathe and brain paralysis set in. I needed to abort, and I needed to do it now. The “16 Again” spell needed to be broken by my over fifty self. I told him it was lovely to meet him, but I needed to get what I came for.
Head held high, Metamucil in hand, I wished him farewell. Yes, that’s right, Metamucil. *
It was my truth, and mission accomplished.
Thank you Apollo.
*I want you all to know that this story is my unembellished truth. For you super sleuthers, check out the sign over Apollo's right shoulder. I am still laughing about it! ; )
Oh, and if you are the curious type wondering how I got the photo? Remember I am fearless! I went back after my" head held high" exit and asked if I could take a picture to document what no one would believe!