DOWNHILL (OR, NOT WHAT IT USED TO BE)From carbon paper t...
From carbon paper to carbon emissions.
From Edward R. Murrow to Tucker Carlson.
From Audrey Hepburn and Grace Kelly to the Kardashians.
From Julia Child to the Golden Corral.
From Ernest Hemingway to Go The F*ck To Sleep.
From Dr. Freud to Dr. Phil.
From I Like Ike to The Donald and Sleepy Joe.
No wonder I’m so p*ssed off. Not just because I’m about to turn sixty and not just today, but just about all the time and just about everything.
On line at the supermarket where I have to remember to bring my own bag and pack my own groceries.
At the gas station where I have to pump my own gas.
On hold listening to the robot telling me my call is important.
At cellphones and their rude, clueless users.
At Metro cards that don’t work on first swipe.
At double length buses that make Manhattan’s terrible traffic worse.
At a decade that began with Enron and ended with Bernie Madoff & Too Big To Fail.
You name it, it bugs me.
And, right now, you could add Ralph to the list.
Just because we’d been married since just about forever does it really mean he had to go on a diet, start exercising, and buy a fancy new wardrobe?
How come he had more—and more expensive—grooming products than I did?
Was it really fair that, turning sixty, he looked like George Clooney while I was beginning to look like Phyllis Diller?
Why did women who weren’t even born the year we got married look at Ralph with goo-goo eyes—and why did Ralph have to look back?
I wondered what happened to Ralph and me. The sizzle was gone, domesticity had set in, time and gravity had had their way with both of us.
Or was it just me?
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