Virginia Is For Families

There has been a lot written about the male midlife crisis.   And I feel that this is an area I can talk about with a certain amount of authority.  Because I have gone to that outpost of civilization. . .that ISLAND of Dr. Moronic.  And returned.   Yes, I have made it back and can now say with some degree of certainty that it’s not as big a deal as it seems at the time.

At the time it seems of course like life is going to be over very soon.  And you better fulfill all your latent fantasies before it’s too late.  Better buy that sports car.  Better bed that beautiful blonde who turned you down when you were nineteen and poor.   Yes, yes I know all about it.   I had a  blonde by the name of Leslie Saylor who was a resident of some poor town in northern Vermont.

But to be perfectly honest I did not have her.   I wanted her desperately but she was a year or two older and quite beautiful.  But quiet.  Too quiet. Why would such a beautiful girl be so quiet?  Well, an eighteen year old boy doesn’t ask himself that question.  He is too busy examining things that scream out to him “I am beautiful parts”.   Like Mr. Perdue who used to scream out that his chickens had beautiful thighs and legs and ( I blush to say this) breasts Leslie Saylor screamed out to me without saying a word.  And I listened.  But I did not hear the most important part. Because  I realize  now  that when God made her he must have been extremely tired by the time he finished with her physical being.  The brains are inserted at the end of the heavenly assembly line and God was resting by then. He was taking a break.  And Leslie was already warming herself up in a Vermont oven by the time he was ready to go back to work.

So she didn’t have a lot to say.  And when I went back to Boston she was no doubt easily persuaded to follow other avenues to adventure.  When I was 45 I knew all of this to be true and also knew that I needed to find someone who had perhaps been put together in a little less uneven fashion. And I needed a sports car and a few other things.  A hair transplant would have been nice.  Contact lenses were not much of a problem but Liposuction scared me.  I can’t stand to watch those television shows where they cut people.

If I did watch one of those shows I would be immediately transported to our grocery store meat counter.  And I would  imagine being  laid out in the refrigerated case on top of lots of ice and framed with  sliced salmon.  It would be, in other words, a nightmare.

All of this must be important because by the time you are 55 let’s face it you are almost DEAD. Well surprise!  I am 58 and I could care less about a sports car.   And if  Charlize Theron showed up tomorrow I really would be happy to see her but not in the same way as say ten years ago.  And I am not almost dead.  In fact I am much more “alive” than I was at any point from age 12 until now.

Back then you can imagine the sort of fantasy I might have had but TODAY  things  would go a   bit differently.

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