JLo Glow

“You know when you cut open an orange only to realize it’s one of those dried out ones with no flavour?”

“Ya,”

“That’s what I feel like. All my juicy-juice goodness has dried up. I hate being middle-age,” Donna said.

Becky sighed:

“You’ve always been like this. Remember your 25th birthday? You had a meltdown and claimed your life was over and that you had nothing to show for it.”

They laughed.

“Ok, but back to my orange analogy. I could get fillers or Botox, but really I’m looking for ways to get my inside juicy self back.”

“Why don’t you go on a wellness retreat and have an affair.”

“Umm, because I’m married. That’s the worse advice ever, you’re nuts.”

“Affairs at wellness retreats don’t count – just like Vegas, but with green juice. Plus, I read that affairs can actually rejuvenate women better than Juverderm.”

“Very funny. I’ll never have an affair and not because I’m a perfect upstanding citizen. But because I have terrible taste in men. I would end up sleeping with someone completely deranged: the kind of guy who drives a mini-van even though he doesn’t have a family.”

“Oh those guys are creepy. And what about the guys who keep freezers in their garage? Never trust a man with a freezer in his garage.”

“Totally.”

“It’s true that you used to have bad taste in men, but then you married Jack and he’s a decent guy – you could have done a lot worse. Remember Melissa James from college? She just found out her husband has a whole other family. Can you believe that?”

“How do people have the time and energy to keep secret families? Jack and I can barely handle one teenager and two cats. Honestly, I don’t think either of us could pull off an affair, we’re too tired. Even before the pandemic we were burned out. Now it’s a miracle if we’re able to stay up late enough to watch an episode of The Crown.”

“That’s sad,” Becky said laughing.

Donna continued,

“I just watched JLo’s Instagram reels and she is the juiciest fifty-two year old. She literally glows from within. She has this light, happy, sparkly vibe. I bought her entire skincare collection.”

Becky started laughing harder:

“Stop it, I’m gonna pee my pants.”

Donna stretched out on their blanket:

“I forgot to put on sunscreen today,” she said, surveying the park.

“Oh who cares – so you get a few more age spots. If you get enough age spots they’ll blend together and you’ll looked nicely tanned,” Becky said.

“I’m so glad you find me amusing.”

Becky passed a peach scented gum drop to Donna.

“Is this candy or an edible?”

“It’s an artisanal CBD edible. You should see the packaging – so chic. I read about them in Vogue.”

Donna popped it in her mouth.

“Delicious, thanks.”

“Okay, now back to your problem: You need to start putting yourself first. You still make breakfast every morning for your husband and teenage son – like a freaking 1950’s housewife.”

“It’s just this little ritual we have, it’s sweet.”

“It’s not sweet, it’s pathetic. Take that morning time and spend it doing something you like. You love reading those alphabet thrillers. So start your mornings with coffee and a book, the guys will survive without bacon and waffles.”

“I don’t know, it’s like this family bonding time—”

“Is it really though? Aren’t they both usually on their phones?”

“Well, kind of, but—”

“I think that you not feeling your juiciest is partly because you let people take advantage of you, including those who love you. Start making yourself a priority or you’ll become resentful. And nothing ages a woman more than resentment.”

“Wow, you’re fired up this morning. I feel like I have a bitchy life coach. Ok I’m doing it. Starting tomorrow the boys are on their own for breakfast.”

They lay in silence for awhile, enjoying the sunshine and light breeze.

“And a yearly girls trip. We should start doing a yearly girls trip. No partners, no kids, no pets.”

“Jack wouldn’t like that, he doesn’t like me travelling without him.”

“Too bad. You deserve a yearly getaway without any mothering or wife-y duties, that’s not a big ask. You’ve really given away a lot of your power, it’s upsetting. If you want JLo’s juicy vibe you’re gonna have to reclaim your damn power – that’s her secret, not her skincare line.”

A few minutes passed and Donna kicked off her Birkenstocks.

“You’re right, I have given away a lot of my power and it’s a sickening feeling. But because I’ve given away so much of it, it sort of feels impossible to get it back. Like I don’t have enough power to get my power back, if that makes sense.”

“It makes total sense. But I know you can do it. And unless you want to feel like a dried out piece of orange for the rest of your life, you have to do it.”

Becky reached out for Donna’s hand:

“I hope I’m not being too harsh, I just love you so much.”

“I love you too babe. And isn’t my hand soft? It’s JLo’s body moisturizer.”

Photo: Jlobeauty.com

You Can Call Me V

“Excuse me, but can I help you over the snowbank?” I asked the elderly woman wearing a lavender parka.

“Oh thank you, this weather is impossible. How am I supposed to run my errands? Apparently it’s all because of global warming, but who knows. I mean how do you ever really know something for sure?”

“Here, let me hold your hand.”

“You’ve got a grip like a large man, did anyone ever tell you that? It’s a good thing, it’s a compliment.”

“Oh, well, thanks.”

“My name is Vivienne, but you can call me V. What’s your name?”

“Mary Ellen. It’s a pleasure meeting you V.”

“Likewise. It’s not every day that someone asks if I need help. Apparently global warming has erased everyone’s good manners too. The world’s gone to hell in a hand-basket, but what are you going to do? I mean you either kill yourself or you just get on with life, those are really the only two options.”

“That’s one way to put it,” I said, arching an eyebrow.

Well this lady is a character

“Today I need to buy a few groceries. Then I’ll bake cookies – I always bake cookies on Thursdays. I have to call Deloris and Maude, they’re my last remaining friends. We check in on each other every day to make sure no one bit the dust overnight. Thursdays I also clean my bathroom. I have a maid who comes in once a month to give the house a good scrub, but I also like to clean. I never want to be one of those sad old ladies who lives in filth.”

“You have a busy day ahead of you. What kind of cookies are you baking?”

“Jam Thumbprints. Have you ever had them? They are incredibly tasty. Very nice with a cup of tea. I eat 24-36 cookies a week, depending on the recipe. Last week I made pecan sandies and the week before that it was gingersnaps.”

“I don’t see how you’re going to get on the streetcar safely with all this snow, why don’t I stay here with you until it arrives,” I suggested.

“That would be wonderful, I love to chat. It gets lonely living by myself. My kids drop by once a week, but I don’t care for them much. That’s a horrible thing to say, I know. But at my age there’s no point in mincing words. My son Lenny is an absolute failure and he’s chubby too. Three marriages, three divorces. But thank god no kids because he would have been a dreadful father. He’s one of those men who a certain kind of woman always likes to take care of? Do you know that type?”

“Actually I do. My friend Melissa is always dating those kind of men. Maybe she’ll marry Lenny.”

“HA!” chuckled V.

“And my daughter is the corporate head of something at Loyola Bank. I honestly don’t think she has a soul. All she cares about is making money. More more more. I think she’s after my house. This neighborhood is considered trendy now – that’s what I read in the weekend paper. Hipsters are moving here, whatever they are—”

“That guy next to the mailbox is a hipster,” I whispered to V.

“The one with facial hair and jeans that are skinny like tights?”

“Yep.”

“His pants are ridiculous, how does he even get them on? Anyways, the point is that I think my daughter wants to tear down my house – HER childhood home – and build a McMansion as soulless as she is. But she’s in for a big surprise: when I die the house is being donated to The Women’s College Hospital. I’ve already got all the legal documents drawn up, my neighbours are both lawyers.”

“Wow. That’s a surprise all right. I think it’s wonderful that you’re donating your house to the hospital, they do excellent work. You haven’t mentioned your husband, did he already pass on?”

“He didn’t pass on, he died. He died fifteen years ago that bastard. He promised me he would always be by my side. Every night I spray his pillowcase with Old Spice, it was his favorite. And I talk to him before going to sleep. I mean obviously he doens’t talk back, but it calms me. I probably sound like a whack-job right now, but it’s the truth. What about you Mary Ellen? Do you have a husband or what is it a…a partner? Or maybe a wife? I shouldn’t leave anything out. I try to keep up with the times you know, I have a subscription to People Magazine.”

“I have a partner, his name is Jared. He’s a hospital administrator.”

“What does that mean exactly?”

“Honestly V I have no idea.”

V laughed loudly.

“What do you do for a job?”

“I decorate people’s homes.”

“Oh you’re one of those creative types.”

“Yes, I am. Look – your streetcar is almost here, I’ll help you on.”

“Stop by sometime for a cup of tea and cookies. I’m just up the street at 15 Greenwood. You’ve probably noticed my house before: in the summer my tiny lawn blooms with hundreds of cosmos, they stretch out over the sidewalk.”

“Oh your flowers are amazing! The cosmos look like tall skinny colorful people who are having a wild party! Give me your hand V, let’s get you on this streetcar.”

“Thank you. Don’t forget to come visit me. I’ll give you cookies to take home to your partner too.”

“I will V. Safe shopping today.”

“Look, the hipster is getting on the streetcar too. I’m going to sit next to him and ask him about his pants.”

I watched as V sat down next to the skinny jeans guy and he turned and smiled at her. She was hard to resist.

Photo: Artist Louise Bourgeois photographed by Herlinde Koelbl. NY Times