You know how you have days where you just KNOW you look good? It’s not a narcissistic moment, it’s just that on that particular day, your external appearance is firing on all cylinders.
I had one of those days. Thursday. It was awesome.
I showered, put on makeup and even went to get my hair colored – for the first time in 10 months, people. TEN MONTHS. I didn’t know what I was going to do with my hair, but I knew it was going to look different. Different and good.
I must have channeled a little Angelina Jolie, because I took my hair a shade darker than normal and opted for a shade called (rightly) “Chocolate”. Dark, rich and shiny were the outcomes and I’m totally digging it.
(I might have emailed Husband on my Crackberry that I looked like a rockstar.)
So, there I was – looking good – and driving home with the top open, shades on, and blasting my still favorite CD by Ari Hest. For the first time in ten months I wasn’t someone’s mom, I wasn’t someone’s stepmom and I wasn’t an uncomfortable pregnant chick.
On the drive home, a particular sexy, favorite song was on and I caught 3 halfway decent guys turning their heads. That was a nice change of pace. I may have smiled – broadly.
Do you ever have moments when, as a happily married person, you remember your single life (the good parts)? The part where you’re completely unencumbered? Where shopping for a smokin’ outfit for your date that night was all you had planned for the day? When every kiss was new, each look was coupled with a sly smile, where you ran for the phone when it rang – even before caller ID?
There are days when I’m reminded of these things…and I miss them. But, right after I miss them, I remember that the best part of all those things was that the outfit was for Husband. He was the one I ran to the phone for. He was the one I stole glances from. He was the one I wanted to kiss. For the rest of my life.
So, really? When I get restless, it’s not about having any of these experiences with another man. It’s wanting to relive them again with him. Which I can’t. I mourn the superficial “beginning” – but I appreciate the present. I do.
And just as soon as these hormones stop playing games with my sensory memory, I’ll be fine. But until then, I can’t stop playing that CD, and thinking about 10 years ago.
It’s like cheating, but with your own memories. Now THAT’s talent.