In case you haven’t been one of the millions of women who have read it, just know that you’re going to need to “let go” about the writing. Those of you have read it know of what I write. I almost didn’t make it past chapter three. But, let yourself take a ride on the decadent wave. You just may find yourself like me: Unable to put it down (after chapter 3). At one point, I kept looking down at the page count to see how many pages were left and was so relieved that I had at least 500 pages to go. I now fret about there probably will be no more Christian Grey naughtiness. Life is cruel.

There is a reason why even Dr. Oz says this series could be good for marriages. Husband has never gotten so lucky. That is, until I had to leave for San Diego.

Warning! Reading these books on business trips can be dangerous. I should know, given I read books two and three on my trip to the left coast last week.

First there was the guy sitting next to me on my flight to California, who I swear was more interested in my iPad than his. But, that’s not the worst. Oh, noooo. The worst part is when you go to sit at your connecting flight gate at O’Hare to spot an incredibly young, hot, built, blonde God who sits down across from you. You swear he could be a good Christian Grey. But, then his wife shows up shattering all my day dreams.

But, wait, there’s more. Oh, how the universe likes to toy with me. He ends up sitting next to me on the plane. Well, across the aisle anyway. I tried not to stare. Then a very angry old guy announced I am actually sitting in his seat. After he makes quite a scene, yelling at both me and the poor flight attendant trying to help, I realize I mixed up my seat assignment with the gate number. Oops. I blame it on my Wishful Thinking. So I had to schlep back up to seat 8C, in front of the wannabe Christian Grey, annoying the dozens of passengers attempting to head to the back of the plane.

It was then I decided I needed to step away from my iPad for a while. Rather, I brought up iTunes. I had already downloaded Spem in Alium. It kept me going for the rest of the flight.

Now the speculation of who will play Christian in the 50 Shades of Grey movie is occupying me. I say Alexander Skarsgard. I also wonder how in-the-name-of-all-that-is-holy they are going to make a mainstream movie from this triology. There is no way they can make this NC-17. Try triple X. But, then again, that’s probably half the fun. Let the games begin.

I do not look like this.

But, I can get up on the hoop and flail around and spin, sort of. It’s supposed to just revolve. My teacher says I spin like I’m circling a drain. She is being kind.

The thing about this innocent looking steel hoop is that it hurts in the most interesting places. For instance, the knee hold, where you hand upside down by one bent knee?

My right knee thinks this is the most fun thing we’ve done since throwing our sand bucket over Billy in 2nd grade during recess.

My left knee (or the back of it) thinks I am the devil incarnate. This bruise does not even begin to show the swelling.

I am told eventually I will stop bruising. In the meantime, every Monday night at 9 p.m. you can pretty much guarantee you can find me on the couch packed in ice. Oh, and smelling like Arnica and biofreeze. Husband just looks at me like I’m crazy but secretly I think he likes that I refuse to give in to becoming an old crone. I shall spin and leap until I die, die, die (or at least get the knee hold). I’ll report in when that happens.

I wouldn’t change being a girl for anything. Except, now that I’m over 40, being a girl means all kind of fun hormonal things like perimenopause (pre-menopause for the uninitiated). This means when we grow up, our female parts start to break open like the gates of hell rebel. The pipeworks begin to have a mind of their own, doing all kinds of crazy things like waking you up at 2 a.m. for no particular reason and making your hair fall out and giving you periods that last, oh, 20 days or so – all at once. Yeah, it’s great to be a girl.

So, I finally gave into my ob/gyn’s advice. Russell said it was time for a tune-up – a permanent tune-up. (Yes, I call him by his first name. After all, we’ve been together for 23 years. It was time.)

Earlier this week Husband and I drive up to Washington, DC where Russell does his surgical wizardry. Yes, I still drive from Central VA to DC for these things. I used to live there, and prior to me turning 40 it just didn’t seem that big of a deal to drive up once a year for a check-up. But, since all hell broke loose things started, ahem, changing. Suddenly finding someone closer to home seems like a good idea. But, later. After all this nonsense is over with.

Anyway, we drive up the night before. I stuff myself at Maggianno’s before the no-food cut off at 10 p.m. and we stay in a very nice Marriott on Wisconsin Ave. The next day we get to Sibley Hospital a full two hours early, where they tell me Russell can “do me” early. This sends the nurses into a frenzy. Three nurses buzz around me asking me dozens of questions – including my name and what surgeries I’m having (ostensibly just to make sure I’m the right Suzanne) and sticking me with IVs and putting quite unfashionable hair bonnets on my head.

(I now take a moment to praise nurses. They are wonderful.)

The nurses give me some “relaxation drugs,” which I am now a BIG fan of. Apparently the first thing I say when the happy drugs kick in was, when this is over I want red velvet cake. I don’t remember much after that.

We drive the three hours home to Charlottesville a few hours later, during which I apparently snore the whole time, to fall bloated belly first into bed.

Husband – now fully in charge — goesto the grocery store to get me my red velvet cake and dinner. Guess what he picks up for dinner? No, really. Guess. I’ll wait. Just remember that seven hours earlier I was under anesthesia.

Did you guess sushi? Under normal circumstances, I’d be all over the little slabs of raw fish. But, somehow raw tuna and wasabi and soy sauce rubbing against my sore, previously-tubed throat and queasy stomach just didn’t seem to work for me. Husband actually argued the point.

It’s light.

It’s raw fish. I counter.

It’s easy to digest.

No it’s not. And, did it not occur to you that soy sauce would burn my throat?

No. It’s light, he repeats.

I end up having soup. Oh, and the red velvet cake. In the end, there was nothing to forgive, really. He brought home two pieces.

More later on the adventures of Suzanne’s surgery. Loads of fun.

I started this blog out of desperation need, when I discovered so few resources on getting married for the first time later in life (read: over age 40). Most of the advice I found on relationships were geared toward

• women seeking a man
• people seeking their second spouse
• people trying to get the spark back after 20 years of marriage, kids and a mountain of poopy diapers and bills

In other words, not me. Now after six years of marriage, I realize there actually is quite a lot more “they” don’t tell you about this kind of relationship. Below are six things I’ve learned that I have yet to see explored deeply (or I’m not looking hard enough).

1. It takes a few years to feel married. I mean you spend a year planning for a few-hour event called The Wedding. Then, after you say the vows before the priest, rabbi or justice of the peace or whoever, you are supposedly, magically meant to feel different? It’s kind of like turning 21. It happens, you drink a lot, and then you wake up feeling kind of the same.

It took me at least four years to truly feel married. The “feeling” of being married comes in a few forms: there is an automatic checking-in thing that happens, I don’t worry about looking attractive to other men, and I am concerned about Husband all the time. It’s like everything I do or think considers this other person. It took about four years to really get there.

2. To have a good marriage you have to spend time together. This may mean endless nights of sitting  on the couch with him, as he watches the news, surfs on his laptop and talks on the phone all at once. I figured it didn’t matter if I was there or not. But, when I wasn’t there a lot, Husband got cranky. Somehow just being there is important. (Note: If you want to still go to dance class every night of the week, jet off to NYC friends whenever, and not worry about what time you’ll get home after work, take a lover not a husband.) Husbands require physical presence. So, marry one you like to spend a lot of time with.

3. Being nice to each other is important.  It’s easy to get really lazy here. Don’t. If you are more polite to the Fed Ex man that you are to your spouse, see number two above.

4. Make sure you’re having enough sex. Do not let this slip. (Right now all the single men and ladies are saying to their computer screen, What? Are you kidding me? That will never be a problem for me.) Uh, right. You will be shocked –shocked, I tell you — at how easy it is to just tell him or yourself tomorrow night, honey, I’m too tired right now. Sex is the difference between rooming with a friend and being married. Make it happen.

5. Have an inside joke. This can be anything that is just between you and him (or her). It should be personal and unexplainable to others. (Note: Do not try to explain it to others. It ceases to be powerful. Plus, they won’t get it.) Keep it sacred. Keep it between you both.

6. It’s okay to not feel like you’ll die if you don’t get to see him/her. In other words, it’s okay to want to be apart or lose that pining feeling. But, when you do, you should still like him (or her). If you don’t, you’re sunk. Likability is key to longlasting. Lust is very short term. Love is like waves – comes and goes throughout the day. Okay, that was really bad writing at the end. But, you get my drift, er wave.