aging – Menopause & Malarkey

Sometimes I could feel his eyes on me. As cheesy as it sounds, it’s true. He would look at me like he was memorizing more than my face or features. It was like he was carving our life and each memory into his soul.

Steve loved me better than I’d ever known.

From the start of our story until his last breath, he made sure I knew.

I was seen
I was beautiful
I was worthy of love

When his breath grew raspy and labored, he still said, “You’re so beautiful” and “I love you.”

Something happens with trauma. The nervous system takes cherished words and emotions and marries them to bitterness and pain.

Glances feel unsafe
Smiles create doubt
Possibilities become frightening

The brain attaches the wrong sort of “what ifs” to innocent interactions. Instead of, “Huh. I remember this,” causing butterflies, it twists into, “I can’t go through it again.”

I could give in to fear. To doubt. Let it freeze my heart in a time when love meant more sacrifice than I could have imagined.

Or I can close my eyes, exhale, and allow good things to warm me.

Things like

Grace.

Patience.

Hope.

Then when I feel eyes on me. Someone smiling. Someone seeing me.

Butterflies won’t make me flinch.

Not even a little.

🦋🦋🦋

Brought to you by Menopause & Malarkey — where the flags are many and the patience is limited.

Ladies… I present to you a man who is:

“Boss at Self-Employed”
(Translation: The boss, the employee, the HR department, and also currently on an unpaid lunch break… indefinitely.)

80 miles away but behaving like we’re all just out here ready to road-trip for romance like it’s 1995.

And — be still my heart — his entire music section is Keith Sweat.
Not a sprinkle.
Not a vibe.
Not a nostalgic “one song on a playlist.”
No, ma’am.
Keith. Sweat. Or. Bust.
This man is out here preparing to beg somebody through a cassette deck.

But wait… the photos.

Ohhh, the photos.

We have:

• The Glamour Cowboy:
A wide-brimmed hat, aviators, and a shirt so bright it’s gotta wear shades.
He’s giving “Line dancing at noon, sermon at three, vibes by Keith Sweat at five.”

• The Close-Up That Didn’t Need to Be a Close-Up:
Half a forehead.
Part of a visor.
A sprinkle of existential dread.
Thank you for this offering.

• The Truck Cab Philosophical Hour:
“Cool drama free cool as a fan”
(Sir… you wrote “cool” twice. And for that reason alone, I have questions.)

And yet — YET — the best part?

He proudly lists Beauty as an interest.

BEAUTY.
Dude, you are Keith-Sweat-ing in a Ford F-150 with an Instagram filter from 2013.

—

Verdict:

🚩🚩🚩MULTIPACK RED FLAGS.
We’re talking Costco-level quantities.

Would I swipe right?
No.

Would I make a meme out of him?
Already did.