When a single pot cookie makes your marriage stronger…
To whom are we beautiful as we go?
I can’t find it now, but there was an article (or maybe only a meme) that coined a new adolescence–for sixty-year olds–healthy, solvent, childless and ready for new adventure. A couple on a bike was pictured, legs outstretched, careening down hill (or maybe I imagined that.)
There’s something freeing (or anxiety producing) about your first-born reaching 20.
Maybe that explains it.
Or maybe it was the combination of two favorites: peanut butter & chocolate;
or the comfortable, familiarity of a potluck gathering;
or the long-awaited return of the sun on Winter Solstice;
or the friendly, innocent words: love & gluten-free–in the welcoming shape of a cookie.
All of these came at the tail end of a month–an entire fucking month–of hormonal headaches. (60 is still on the horizon for me.)
Nothing happened. Not really. Which was always the way it…
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