poison-coffee-1393811431I used to say my marriage was held together by my husband’s great sense of direction and common debt.

Really, I used to say that. Maybe I’ll keep saying it, who knows. You never can tell with me.

Upon reflection, there are probably many things that hold it together. For example, everyone talks about how love will keep us together, but then Captain left Tennille or maybe Tennille left Captain and if those two stalwart denizens of love didn’t have all the answers, what hope do the rest of us have?

I’ve watched a few of my friends reenter the dating world after divorce and witnessing this has given me some insight on what really holds my marriage together – pure, unbridled fear.

It’s true that I have a divorce behind me, but I was 26 when that happened and my body was still under factory warranty. I was a certified preowned human. But now I’m 50 and the transmission could blow at any time.  I don’t go past 2nd gear and rarely can hit the highway speed limit anymore. And one of my headlights is pointing straight down.

The truth is, I can’t even reach some of the places a single person would need to shave before going on a date.

So while love may keep us together, it’s more than that. It’s more than common debt. And now that we all have GPS on our smart-phones, it’s definitely more than just his good sense of direction.

Getting back into the game is terrifying to me. And it’s more than just the thought of shaving the back of my thighs, it’s breaking in a whole other person about all my many many foibles and flaws. About where that itchy spot on my back is. About how anxious driving in the rain at night makes me. About how I have to eat my Kraft macaroni and cheese right out of the pot while it’s still very hot because if it gets cold, gross, just throw it in the trash. About how the sound of someone chewing can make me homicidal and IT’S CALLED MISOPHONIA, LOOK IT UP, IT’S A REAL THING, I CAN’T HELP IT – IT’S SCIENCE!

And we won’t even talk about my body. Holy hell, the thought of putting my 50 year old body back into play is enough to leave me rocking in the corner catatonically, if only my body could still squat down and assume the required fetal position which it can’t so I’ll be rocking figuratively in my Barcalounger.

The truth is I’m not confident enough to handle a hip cramp during a first-time sexual encounter so I guess I’ll just be married forever, over here cushioned in the safety of my unshaven thighs and my screaming hip-cramps and my unapologetic misophonia.

None of that sounds very romantic, so we’ll just call it love, OK?

Love. Love will keep us together. Just ask Captain and Tennille – they know.

ps: I don’t even have a Barcalounger. I’m 50, I’m not dead.