Nothing Lasts Forever - Not Even BBFs

     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.

     My 52-year-old best bud is now sporting a few tattoos.  A little body art to express herself - a large flower covers her chest, and a tiger curls up her neck. She has teamed up with Japanese designer, Tokidoki, who gave her a whole new look:  pink bob, skull and leopard print top and leggings, sparkly platform shoes and a faithful companion named Bastardin, who looks like a cross between a small dog and a cactus.  Barbie has always been a little edgy, but this is just a little too much.

     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.   

  

     In Nora Ephron's best-selling book, I Feel Bad About My Neck, she laments the sorry state of her 60-something neck: "Our faces are lies and our necks are the truth. You have to cut open a redwood tree to see how old it is, but you wouldn't have to if it had a neck," she writes.

     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.