Last night I ate a cooked tomato.

Let me tell you, conversations of my Grandmother talking to the Yentas about Metamucil, doctors visits, hair removal, and their latest medication modifications came rushing into my head like a Prune Juice tsunami.  Things like my Grandmother saying, “Well when I was young I like Corn Beef and Cabbage,  oy, now it just gives me fayer in my Kishkas (and not in the good way).

Laying in bed with my guts on fire, I could only think, “Holy  crap  I’m starting to get old”. If this is what a tomato is doing to me at 38, forget about it.

Now laying in bed with your entire intestines in flames at 1am is not a good thing. I found myself going through the list of all the things I haven’t done, haven’t had a PAP smear in 2 years, should probably go back to one glass of wine a night (I don’t even want to know what my liver looks like. Thanks G-d I don’t smoke and have  never done drugs),  go have a mammogram, wait wait there was something else, oh yeah, find out about hormone therapy before menopause (it’s suppose to ease the adjust in if you start several years before the big M).

Thanks goodness going to the foot doctor guy  to remove bunions was not on the list.

As I lay there thinking for sure I was going to die from the Lycopersicon Esculentum acid that was melting my stomach lining, I was sure I was dying.  The internal conversation started:

Me:  “See I told you were going to die alone, you’re 38, with two kids, you’re a friggen Technical Writer not a Curator like you always wanted to be. What kind of assets do you have, absolutely zilch, bubkas darling. ”

Me:  “Oh shut up already.  It’s not enough I’m dying, I should have to listen to the voice of my mother while I suffer.  Enough……”

Me: “That stomach of yours ain’t ever going to be like when you were 19.”

Me:  “Shut up already, I swim between 12 – 21 Kilometers a week to listen to this. Let’s talk about my legs, those are some assets. There are a couple more that aren’t so bad either.  So maybe put a sock in it for while huh. Let me suffer in silence.”

Me:  “Yeah the others aren’t bad, but be assured, in a few years you’ll have to nip and tuck those back into place as well.  What do you think they stay like that forever.  And don’t forget Botox, soon you’ll be Botoxing the crap out of that money maker, just like your mother”.

Me: “Oh for, shut up already, I need to sleep already. I need to be up early to shake the other set of ass-ets across the lap lane,  so just be quiet”.

Me: “And what do you think, there’s somebody out there that’s going to appreciate your spiritual growth, pfffff. Be glad you have some kind of education, at least you can support yourself.  And so what if you got smarts, smarts doesn’t keep you warm at night. You think your great sense of humor is fun to sleep next to.  Listen to  me kiddo, you need to get on the ball.  You better get over your current gloom and doom and find yourself a mench. And good luck looking, single with two kids approaching 40,  pfff, who would have thought”.

Me:  “Ma, would you be quiet already. I don’t want to get remarried, I just want a normal relationship based on mutual trust and understanding. I want to laugh my ass-ets off every day, Be in a committed relationship with somebody (with a surf board and diving gear)  as smart as I am, without stopping the other person from living their life.  But I’m tired already, right now I just want to go to sleep.  So like could you take your guilt, and come back later.  Go get in Kristin’s head or something”.

Me: “Well you know I love you, right (and I’m always right)”.

And there it is, like Tevye in the Fiddler on the Roof, I was having a dialog with a ghost, well kind of. Apparently our parents really don’t die, they worm their way into our internal dialog, and wait for us to eat cooked tomatoes at 38.

Bottom line, I’ve sworn off cooked tomatoes and pesto.

As for my assets, well you know as a good friend told another friend about 12 years ago, and another friend’s wedding,  “just work what you got” 🙂