Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: MONDAY, August 22, 1994 TAG: 9409270014
SECTION: EDITORIAL PAGE: A7 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: MONTY S. LEITCH
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
"I'm taking off next week to have my midlife crisis," she said. "I'm going into isolation until it's done. Reservations at Groundhog Mountain."
"Groundhog Mountain?" I asked her. "Can you do that? That's pretty posh. Can you really get it over with in a week?"
"I don't see why not," she said. "I have a stack of how-to books, 2 pounds of coffee and a liter of Wild Turkey. And they have a pretty good restaurant up there. If I put my mind to it, it ought to work. All these books say it will, anyway."
"But listen," I said, "if you're using average life expectancies as your guidelines, then aren't we a couple of years beyond midlife? What prompted you to do this now?"
"My cat has asthma," she said.
She always has had a way with non sequiturs. "Say that again?" I asked her.
"My cat has asthma. I have to give him prednisone and aminophylline twice a day. He doesn't fight me on it, though."
"And the reason this has prompted you to have your midlife crisis now is - ?"
"I've turned into the kind of woman who gives her cat pills. I even talk to him, like he could understand. `Why did you throw up in your dish, Wilbur?' I asked him just this morning. The next thing you know, I'll be hearing him answer me. It's a short hop from that to cotton stockings and sensible shoes."
"Oh, I don't know," I said. "That doesn't sound so bad to me. Not bad enough for a midlife crisis, anyway."
"Well, you don't think that's the only thing, do you?"
"There's more?"
"Just the other week, I came home from a hard night at vacation Bible school and there was another sheaf of flyers for satellite dishes on the kitchen table. You know, the man of the house has been collecting those flyers for a year."
"And?" I prompted her.
"And so I said, not really meaning it, you understand, `Well, did you buy us one?' And he said, `Yes'!''
"That's nice," I said. "You'll be linked to the universe."
She snorted. "I said, `How much did it cost?' And he said, `We don't have to make any payments until February.' And so I just let it drop."
There was a heavy pause in the conversation. (I didn't know what to say.) Then she said, "Did you hear me? I just let it drop! I've started leaving the finances up to him, like I didn't have a brain in my head!"
"Well, I don't think ... ''
"That's it!" she cried. "That's it! I'm talking to a sick cat instead of thinking about important affairs! And, as if that weren't enough, now that we've got the satellite dish, I'm lying around eating Fritos and watching schlocky movies all day. Sniffling alone on the couch all afternoon! It's midlife crisis time. There's no getting around it.''
I said, "I think you're being too hard on yourself." But then, something occurred to me. And so I asked her, "Next week, while you're in isolation having your midlife crisis, who's going to look after Wilbur? And the satellite dish?"
"I don't know," she sniffed. "I'm making the man of the house come with me. He can have his midlife crisis, too."
"Well," I ventured, "I'm not feeling too fragile. I could house-sit for you. I mean, if it would help."
And she said, "Fine." Which is how I came to see an old Jane Fonda movie Saturday morning in which she actually looks delicate and frail.
Monty S. Leitch is a Roanoke Times & World-News columnist.
by CNB