My
BBF and I parted ways this week and I am devastated.
She
and I have been best friends for most of my life. Though thick and thin, she has been by my
side to comfort me and make me feel better.
I just cannot imagine my life without her. But, my dearest friend is going through a
mid-life crisis that makes MY mid-life crisis look like a high school senior
without a prom date.
When
we were younger, I always dreamed of being just like her, with her perfectly
bouncy hair, her beautiful blue eyes, her endlessly long legs, Scarlett O-Hara
waist, golden Malibu tan, and only-in-my-dreams bosom. She was always light years ahead of me in
style and fashion – wearing the latest designer clothes, driving convertibles,
jeeps and even her own airplane. We spent countless hours playing together,
growing up together in the 1960’s.
My
mother almost made me stop playing with her in 1967 when she wore the orange
teeny bikini - modeled after the one worn by that year’s Sports Illustrated
Swimsuit Edition cover girl. She also
learned to do the twist that year, showing up at all my friends’ slumber
parties with her twistable waist and side pony tail. Mama called her a hussy.
In
1971, when I was a clumsy, hormonal preteen, my best friend had her first
makeover. She appeared at my house that
Christmas with a sculpted face, snow white capped teeth and sparkling blue eyes
that looked right at you (as opposed to looking demurely downward as she always
had) – and she had on blue eye make-up – something I had to wait another four years
to be able to do.
In
the early 1980’s when I was making minimum wage working as a newspaper reporter
for a small town newspaper, she was offered her first acting job. Donning skin-tight blue jeans and three inch
heels, she joined Brooke Shields in declaring that “nothing comes between me
and my Calvin’s.” I could never get my
Mississippi backside into a pair of Calvin’s – not then and certainly not
now. But, I loved that she could.
Modeling
was not the only career my best friend has enjoyed. In fact, she has had l08 jobs – including
flight attendant, ballerina, army officer (her uniform was sanctioned by the
Pentagon), Olympic swimmer, TV chef, and veterinarian. Some have called her flighty; I simply thought of her as ambitious.
Ok,
so, Barbie has always been a bit of a
trouble maker, but she helped make my simple southern life a bit more
exciting. I stuck with her through
her Harley Davidson biker years and her Beach Bikini stint. I was there for her in 2000 when she had yet
another make over, what she called her “millennial makeover” which included a
little lipo for a more athletic physique and her first-ever exposed belly
button. I fretted endlessly on
Valentine’s Day in 2004 when she broke up with her boyfriend of 47 years. I was always a little leery of Ken – he was
just a little bit too interested in Barbie’s clothes and shoes to suit me. I
heard he has moved to Key West where he is raising Highland Terriers and
working on his tan. He just never seemed
to get out of the Malibu beach scene years.
I
admit, growing, ah, mature is not the easiest thing in the world. The mirror is suddenly not my friend – tiny
lines and not-so-tiny wrinkles glare back at me from a face that looks
remarkably like my mother. Sizes that
fit me perfectly for years now seem to be tight in some places and loose in
others. I used to be able to skip lunch
and lose five pounds – now I could skip food for five days and gain weight. When I finally went to see a doctor about a
severely aching shoulder, he said, “As we get older, our bodies start falling
apart and we have aches and pains that we did not have when we were
younger.” The first time he said it, I
was a little irritated, but when he repeated it, I almost came off the
examination table to snatch his hair out.
I agree. I keep reading all about how women over the age of 40 should strive to “age gracefully.” That’s an oxymoron if I ever heard one – like pretty ugly or clearly confused or same difference or old news or act naturally. How is a girl supposed to “age gracefully” when her best friend is off getting all tatted up like a floozy?
I can’t stand it when people say that getting older is great. That older means wiser and that they look forward to being smarter, mellower. They yearn to be old enough to understand what is important in life. Most of those people are young folks with smooth necks. I’ll take a smooth face, narrow hips and freckle-free hands over wisdom any day.
I do
like what Eleanor Roosevelt had to say about aging -"Beautiful young
people are accidents of nature, but beautiful old people are works of
art."
So,
I’ll just leave the aging gracefully to those women who choose to do that. As for me, I’m fighting it, kicking and
screaming all the way. If getting skin
art works for my friend, Barbie, and helps keep her young, then more power to
her.
What I
have learned in my 50-something years is that growing, ah, mature, does have its
perks. Like realizing that you can
choose who you want to spend your time with.
You really do outgrown people and realize that some relationships are
simply toxic and unhealthy. Choose your
circle of friends wisely. My dad (
absolutely the wisest person I have ever known) told me often “Birds of a
feather flock together.” He was
right. Make sure your birds are the kind
that makes you sing.
Unlike
the rest of us, Barbie is forever young.
I just cannot be friends with someone that blond, that tall, that thin,
that rich, that fashionable or that hip.
Instead,
I choose to be a work of art and to age with humor just like Eleanor did. If you can’t beat it, laugh about it.
And,
pile on the night cream.
