Is that me?

IS THAT ME?

Is that me?
          I stared at myself waddling towards the floor length mirrors while Jeremy yelled at me to punch and kick.  The person in the reflection had brows that were furrowed, and smile lines had anchored themselves below rounded cheek bones.  Whoever that was in the mirror didn’t look too far off from having prunes swinging like pendulums from her chest.  My father had told me weeks earlier that I was no longer a spring chicken.  Up to that defining moment in the mirror, I hadn’t given his statement much credence.   
          I don’t think I’d paid attention to the action that aging was taking upon my body.  My spirit felt strong, and my soul was youthful, but I knew that a mere 5 years away was a life with a barren womb and little to no prospect of a husband. Is this what my life has become?
Jeremy’s bright yellow shirt was far from juxtaposed to his mediocre musculature and flamboyant high pitched voice.  I imagined that he taught these classes as an opportunity to jump around like a giddy school girl, flaunting his agility and flexibility for all the men who may have been interested.  And, although I had previously decided that I did not want to spend my precious workout hour with a flaming gay man, the boxing class had become quite a good distraction for the maladies in my life.  That was, up until I realize that the joy and excitement that usually came with a birthday would not be visiting me this year.          
          “Are you sweating?”  The class let out a unanimous “whoot.”  I didn’t respond.  I stared at the mass that surrounded me.  We looked like a bunch of untrained dancers who had been hired as zombies in Janet Jackson’s remake of Thriller.  I chuckled. 
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         I got home just in time to hear my cell phone vibrating.  I first noticed I had lost it earlier in the day when I was arguing with myself over whether or not to abandon my bucket of chicken for gym.  Being that I was already going to be late, I didn’t take the time to find it.
I quickly dropped my gym bag and turned off the lamp, so that the phone’s light would stand out.  Down on my knees I shuffled over the piles craft of paper.  Darn it, I thought, I’m probably crushing my dream board.  Who was I kidding - a dream board?  It was more like a piece of paper with magazine clippings of skinny girls that I never really believed I’d ever look like.  I kept searching.  A light shone from beneath a couch cushion.  Aha!  There it is!  I thought.  I went to stand up to find the light switch, only to smack my head on the coffee table.  Typical.  I rubbed my aching head, and while leaning against the coffee table I felt it vibrating. Huh, I guess it wasn’t in the couch.  My eyes had adjusted to the darkness just enough that when I concentrated I could now see the bucket of chicken vibrating towards me.  I lifted it up, grabbed a drumstick, and picked up the phone.
         “Hello,” I chomped. 
         “Victoria! You’ll never guess what happened.”
         “Hmmm, gee, I dunno , you met a new guy.” 
         ”No…, well yes, but that’s not why I’m calling.  I’m calling because I have a new guy for yooooou!”
         “For me?” I gulped a mouthful of chicken.
         “Yeah.  He’s great.  Tall, six pack, and a smile that could seduce Mother Theresa!  He’s a friend of this new guy I’m seeing so I reeeeeeaaaaallly want you two to meet.  I already promised my new guy a double.  Pretty pretty please?”
         “A six pack, Amy?  But I was working on meeting a chubby guy who’s a disastrous klutz.”
         “Victoria, drop the chicken, and go pick out an outfit for tomorrow night.”
         “I’m not eating any chicken.”
         “Victoria, drop the chicken.”
         “I’m not eating any chicken.”
         “Victoria – “
         “-Ok OK, I put the chicken down. “ 
         “Awesome!  Be ready at 6!”
         I was starving, and newly banned from eating chicken.  I figured I could hold onto my drumstick at least until I had gotten ready for bed.  I pushed myself to undress and shower, and slip into my snugee.  I really didn’t want to meet a new guy who was as gorgeous as Amy had described, only to disappoint him with my rolls newly discovered furrows.  But, what did I have to lose? 
         I mean there I was, 29 with nothing to come home to.  I didn’t have a bright eyed child clamoring for my attention.  I didn’t have a husband or even a boyfriend to look longingly into my eyes.  All I had were a few garments that I’d been sewing, a keyboard, a violin, a guitar, a knitting and crocheting kit, some crafty cookbooks and the hope of living through the night.  I didn’t have any cats, but I certainly still qualified for the spinster club.
         I decided to pull up the 5 singles sites to which I subscribed and see if there was anybody who had enjoyed my profile enough to send me a message inviting me out for a fun evening on the town.  And… once again, nothing.  “Oh well”, I thought, and closed my eyes.

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         The next morning I awoke to the sun shining brightly through my eyelids.  It was a welcome reminder that yes, I was still alive.