Love At 47
Been there done that.
That’s what you think.
You’ve had relationships. Enough to know how to handle them. You’ve been married. It didn’t work out. You sought divorce. Signing those papers came with some awareness. You now know what you want from relationships. You have mastered the art of love. Mastered matters of the heart.
DeBarge says the heart is not so smart but you, you are smart. Or you are a disaster waiting to happen.
You’re 47 years old. And 47 looks good on you. You have your life figured out, until this man walks into your life. Casually. Strategically.
He is interesting. He is also married. Of course with children. He’s in his 50’s. A relationship with a married 50-year-old man will not take you where you don’t want to go now, will it? No way. You gat this.
You decide that you are good to have an affair with married man over there? It’s not like you want anything from him. You make no demands. You are not clingy like the wife – most definitely not. You are doing good all by yourself. Your career is at its peak. Your children are doing well growing into young adults…so where is the harm in a little fun, huh? Haven’t you earned it?
You spend time together when he can get away from the good for nothing wife of his. You forget that you filed for divorce because of a man just like this one. Only that he was your husband and he was cheating on you. This one is not your husband, and he is cheating with you.
I think that I should mention at this point that your quick shift in values just made me a little dizzy. But I’ll survive. And this is not about me anyway.
So, fun with married man. Hotel bookings for nights of wild passion. Cruises to the coast. Safaris to the Mara. Dinner reservations. Lovebirds are you.
One day, the periods don’t show up. You start wondering if menopause is knocking. Too soon?
You are pregnant.
You hate the battles you went through with your children’s father during the divorce process. God knows you don’t want another child. Like ever ever.
Plus, you really don’t see yourself changing diapers at this stage in life.
But you are pregnant. That fact glares at your face, refusing to blink.
Married man gets wind of your pregnancy. The tu-morning sicknesses are not easy to hide. He gets angry. Demands, yes, demands that you get rid of it immediatri. Yes, immediatri. Get rid of it, you hear me?!
You say fine. You get rid of it.
Things are good again; no problems from the wife. She is blissfully ignorant.
BAM! No periods again.
Are you kidding us right now?
Married man gets wind of it. He is furious as hell. What the herr? He asks.
How did you get yourself pregnant again jameni? You want to tell him that it’s really impossible for you to get yourself pregnant. But you also want to puke. You just want to puke your guts out and for the noise to stop so that you can go back to bed.
If it makes you feel any better, we understand that family planning methods fail sometimes. That coil can fall off without you noticing. Those pills…arrgh! who remembers to swallow those things on the daily. Other people may not understand but we do, don’t we guys? We’ll cut you some slack, won’t we guys?
Pregnant. Again. Unwantedly. You don’t love yourself, do you?
But aren’t children a gift from God? – you remind married man after an episode of puking.
You are not having my chaold. I have cheudren. Me and my wife have cheudren. We don’t want any more cheudren.
You heard the man. No cheudren.
You and your wife? Where does she come in? But si we are in this together? But si you love me? But si you were to divorce her and marry me?
He stands there. He looks furious. He is not sure what to tell you.
He asks you to get in his car.
I came with my car – that’s you saying this.
You’ll come back for it rater. Get in my car!
You do as bid. He takes the driver’s seat. He is in charge. You like it when he is in charge like that.
He drives like a maniac. Your morning sickness demands to be felt. It is there. Present in his car. Occupying the space between the driver’s seat and yours. No, it will not sit down and shut up! It needs to be let out. You tell married man you are going to be sick. He pulls up and waits for you to throw up.
You get back into the car.
He continues to drive like a maniac.
He parks outside a hospital. Oh, you don’t like it when he is in charge anymore. He is making a decision that should be made by you. Pro-life or pro-choice is your choice to make. We know sweery, we know.
Where are those feminists when you need them? You look at your phone contacts. Linda, Caroline, Tracy, Millie…no. They are not feminist enough. You need that crazy one who will help you make this idiot (ok, that degenerated pre-tt-ey fast!) understand that he has no right to decide whether or not you keep a pregnancy. You’ve been hanging out with the wrong crowd apparently. You should have had at least one feminist on speed dial. Never knew you’d need them huh?
He calls someone on his phone. Calls him Daktari. Nimekuteberea reo boss.
Daktari comes to the parking lot. Married man tells him of his predicament. That’s you of course. They agree to handle the predicament. Again, you. Money changes hands. You’d rather not look as they attach a price to your fetus. Plus, you can’t even see coz …are those tears in your eyes? Now, there there.
He looks at you. Smack in your eyeballs. Demands, yes demands, that you co-operate with the good Daktari. He will wait for you in the car.
You follow good Daktari. His office is thronging with patients. But you, you will walk straight into his office because your priority has been paid for.
The good Daktari does his thing. It leaves you sore and weak. You can’t wait to go home and get some rest.
The parking lot is empty when you get back. It is nightfall. You call married man. Where did he go?
The phone is ringing. He is not picking.
Then the phone is busy.
Then the wife is picking his phone – like, since when?
Then the phone is off.
You are confused. What just happened here?
Dare we answer that?
No. He cannot do that to me. He loves me. We’ve been together for three years. (eee…he’s been married for 22 so that’s not a yardstick for loyalty) Three good solid years (you’re not listening to us are you?). He was not messing with me. (ok…) He is going to divorce his wife. I know these things. I have mastered matters of the heart…
He wouldn’t do this to me really, would he?
You have the answer to that. And we sympathize.
In all fairness, you were not stupid. You were in love. Now what is left is for you to forgive yourself and pick yourself up. Understand that there is nary a difference between being in love at 47 and at 17.
And age does not insulate your heart against love.
Nor its stupidity.