Monday Nights Aren't Just For Football

Monday I was in a funk all day. Nothing to really pin point to, just a weirdness I was feeling.  Work dragged on forever and then I had a doctor's appointment that evening for prescription refills.  I also confirmed that I have a sinus infection. 

When I got home and was standing at the kitchen island, passing out the mail, and The Boy said "did you get your invitation to join AARP, yet." 

He was joking.  He's been teasing for weeks me that I'm turning 50.  I've been threatening to kill him in his sleep.  

Anyway, I looked up from the pile of mail and said no.  I rolled my eyes. 

But my voice cracked.  And out of nowhere, the tears spilled forth like a rushing wall of water.

The Boy said "Awe man, don't cry!" 

20 put her arms around me and said don't cry, looked at The Boy with death glare, and asked "Mom, why are you crying?"

I managed blurb out "I don't know" between tears and snot bubbles.  I reached out and put my arm on The Boy's arm and said I was okay, that it wasn't his fault.  He said "There is no crying in baseball!" That made me laugh.

Then The Boy was feeling bad and 20 wanted him dead, and I had an endless stream of tears running down my face, 17 was staring at the three of us like we're all drunken idiots professing our love to each other outside a bar. 

Then, as suddenly as they appeared, the tears were gone.  Over.

It was weird. But in that moment, I admitted to myself that turning 49 the next day is bothering me.  Not the number as much as the idea that I'm turning 49 and single. That combination seemed to be rather off putting.  Like a toxic issue that I wasn't prepared to deal with. 

So like any grown ass adult, I went to the store and picked up my antibiotics, ate dinner, took a long hot shower, trolled The Facebook, and finally went to bed. 

Because I was turning forty fucking nine the next day.