Ready to Accept 'REGULAR RIBBING'?

by | Oct 1, 2007 | Every Day Life

This is something a woman is never supposed to do, but since when has that stopped me? I am going to reveal my age.
I am 43 years old. My husband is 49. We joke about what he would have thought when he was a senior in high school. What if someone had taken him to my sixth grade class and said, ‘there is your future wife?’
Our boys are currently 21, 18 and 16 years old and have heard this story a lot lately. We keep telling them not to get in a hurry to find the right girl — because if they follow their father’s example, their future brides are still only 15, 12, and 10 years of age respectively.
Due to our six-year age difference, I have had (and have taken many opportunities) to point out how old Donald is and how young Iam.Forinstance,hewas28whenourfirst child was born.
Now I know that seems young, but by the time I was 28 I had given birth four times. When he was 40, we had no teenagers. By the time I turned 40, that was all we had.
Another milestone will be when Donald is 50. We will have two in college and one more almost there. When I turn 50, all three should be finished with college — at least we hope so.
Most of this teasing has been done in innocent fun. I will confess I have at times become slightly aggravated by my “aging” husband’s need to find his glasses to read small print –which he can never find. Also aggravating is his need to be “regular,” and his moaning about how vacations and being away from home make him “irregular.” (If there is anyone reading this that doesn’t know what I mean by “regular and irregular,” be thankful.)
For years, his hearing has be getting worse as well, and being soooooo much younger than him, I haven’t always been as tolerant as I should have. It hasn’t helped that during all our years of marriage, he has never been able to hear crickets. I mean, one of the requirements of a husband is to be able to find and kill a cricket isn’t it?
I could write a whole column on the first time I discovered my husband could not perform the manly duty of finding and killing a cricket. Of course, like most men, he will not admit that his hearing has gotten worse, which makes me tease him even more.

Donald’s response to all this teasing has always been the same. “You just wait. Your turn is coming.”
Well, recently several things have happened causing me to think my turn may have arrived with a vengeance. I have notice recently that it is becoming more difficult to read the newspaper. The other day I needed to thread a needle, and I couldn’t see the hole.
The final straw came this past weekend. We were driving to see friends in Fayetteville. I was going to file my fingernails during the trip. No matter how many times I adjusted my hands I could not see to file my nails. I kept cocking my head up, down and sideways. Nothing helped.
Exasperated, I complained to Donald. He just smiled this huge smile and I quickly said, “You better NOT say a word.” He didn’t. He just kept smiling.
It gets worse.
This past Labor Day weekend, our family went camping. We have been going camping for the past 17 years. I have never had any trouble with, as Donald puts it, being “regular.”
Now I know this topic should only be shared with really close friends, but as I said earlier that has never stopped me before. Besides, it is only fair that since I have now shared my husband’s bathroom habits, I should reveal mine.

Not once in four days!!!! Not until I got to my own home. When my son Payton read this, he thought I was talking about taking a shower. Oh, the innocence of youth.
The final straw happened just a couple days ago. I was lying on my son Dillon’s bed, asking him questions, which he hates. It’s not the questions; just me asking them.
All of a sudden, he fusses: “Your watch drives me crazy.” I was confused, and I asked him what was wrong with my watch.
He said the ticking was ‘so annoying.’ I responded, “What ticking?” I was shocked.
I put the watch up close to my ear and sure enough, the second hand makes a ticking sound. You could have knocked me over with a feather.
Out of Dillon’s mouth came something I have said at least a hundred times to Donald, “Can’t you hear that? You are sooooo old.”
My eyesight is going, my hearing is going, and now I have to think about “regular and irregular.” Apparently, I am as old as my husband.
What in the world, will I tease him about now?

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