View From the Tenth Level

It’s tough getting older, especially once you pass the age of 40. OK – Sheryl Crowe says that 40 is the new 20. Maybe so – especially if you can afford a trainer, a nutritionist, a stylist, and Botox – but for most of us, 40 is still 40. And now I’m over 40. I’m at the Top of the Hill, looking down at the other side. What else can you do but laugh and enjoy what’s left?

So, a birthday celebration should be a Big Deal. My husband, Dan, made sure it was by calling me at work every day for the week previous to my birthday, and announcing: “it’s your birthday Saturday.” Hey, at least he didn’t forget!

He had a few surprises for me, and wouldn’t give me any clues. He knows what a good guesser I am! Actually, it’s not so much that I’m a good guesser, but that we think so much alike. I’d probably read his thoughts and spoil his surprise for me.

The day started out on a high note and just got better. I woke up, half-zombie-like, in my flannel pj’s (the ones that Dan likes to call my “Teddy Bear jammies” even though there are no teddy bears on them), and I was instructed to check out our dining room table. On the table were a birthday card and some flowers. He knows how much I love red roses, so I received a few roses from my Eternal Sweetheart. That would have been enough for me, but I was whisked out of the house at 10 am and taken to a beauty salon for a one hour full body massage and facial. Bliss!

Usually, I’m the one giving out the massages, so it was so nice to have someone else give me one. My masseuse had me so relaxed that she could have gotten away with mutilating my hair or drawing a fake moustache on my face, and I would have smiled my way through it all. Her skilled hands worked out all of the kinks in my muscles – I had no idea how tense they were until she found those pressure points and worked on them.

The facial came afterwards, and she complimented me on how nice my skin was. Not too many clogged pores or blemishes. If she only knew how I suffered from pimples when I was a teen! The compliment was worth the time in the salon, alone.

After two hours had whizzed by, I was taken back home to relax for a while and pass the rest of the afternoon, until it was time for dinner. Dan didn’t tell me where we were going (although I pretty much guessed,) and we arrived at Larousse French restaurant in Brighton. Ooo-la-la! I had dressed to kill, with a shapely dress and CFM stiletto shoes.

I must have been “lookin’ good” (either that, or he’s seen my TV stuff in the USA or thinks he's seen me somewhere else,) because the owner came over and introduced himself and told us he wished us a pleasant experience. We dined on brie in a pastry shell, poulet Larousse and tournedos au Camembert, and finished with sorbet and chocolate mousse. The owner then had a glass of port brought to us “on the house.” When it was time to leave, after spending two fantastic hours indulging in gustatory delights, the owner came over to personally assist me with my jacket.

Come to think of it, maybe he thought I was a food critic! But so much attention (especially since it was my birthday, and he didn’t know it,) was very welcome and appreciated.

I’d like to think that old jingle is correct: “You’re not getting older. You’re getting better.” I guess I will have to visit that restaurant more often – just to make sure. Up until yesterday, I've always hated being called "princess," but now I can say that my husband makes me feel that way. To think other women rejected him because he's a truck driver.

I struck gold!