MANAGING EXPECTATIONS

I've decided that the best way to move past middle age is to acknowledge that there will be changes in what you do and whom you do it with. This is called managing expectations.

 

For example, remember Saturday nights? (This was during a magical, long-ago time when there was still somewhere to go on a Saturday night.) There were bars and concerts and theater and parties, and we all felt like failures if we got home before 1 AM. That began changing when kids and babysitters became a factor, of course, but we were still able to remain functional and reasonably vertical until at least 11.

 

Somewhere along the line, though, we realized that a movie followed by dinner had become our preferred mode of entertainment. That wasn't too terrible, but a few years after that we started aiming for 5 o'clock starting times. We noticed that there suddenly seemed to be quite a few walkers in the aisles and that most of the audience tended to yell "What did he say?" a lot, but we chose to ignore those details. 

And it's not just entertainment that's changed. Remember when bedtime was exciting and sexy and involved interesting apparel from places like Victoria's Secret or Frederick's of Hollywood? (Ok, so I never shopped at either of those places, but I DID get the cuter sleepwear from Target.)  Well, nowadays, I head to the bedroom, pull on the t-shirt thingy that passes as my nightgown, make a stop in the bathroom, slip into the king-size bed, realize I should probably go to the bathroom one more time to play it safe, and finally flick off my light.

 

Shortly afterwards, my husband arrives and completes his own bathroom ritual, which involves an extended reading period in what he calls "the office." Then he comes into the bedroom, pulls back the comforter on his side, and the room goes dark.  

 

"Come here, you," he says. There's a soft rustle as he moves closer and reaches out for cuddles and kisses. He may say something like, "You feel so soft," or "You're so pretty." Then, after a time, he whispers "Good night, sweetie" and follows the endearment with an affectionate hug.

 

Which would all be really, really nice, except that he's talking to the dog.

 

Not that I'm bothered by this. She's been sleeping in the channel between us for years, and she really is a sweetheart.  And usually, after the tender moment between the two of them is complete, my husband stretches over her with a second kiss for me, along with a cheerful "G'night, Hon." Minutes later, he is snoring happily and, after wiping a few strands of fur off my face, I am too. And so's the dog.

 

So, basically, all three of us are quite content. Like I said, you just have to manage expectations.