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On Getting Over Yourself

A few weeks ago my brother went to a funereal of a fellow* we both knew in high school. At said event, another fellow that we had gone to junior and senior high school asked after me. When my brother reported that so&so asked after me, I was very surprised.
Me: “Really, he asked after me?”
Joe: “Yes, he did.”
Me: “But he was SO mean to me in school and even at our 10 year reunion.”
Joe: “Well, I guess he got over himself.”
Me: ((disbelief))
Fast forward to this evening’s family pre-Thanksgiving Thanksgiving dinner** with the family. Me, wearing my favorite pink sweater and a pair of comfy (read roomy) black jeans.
My Aunt: “I love your sweater… Have you lost weight?”
Me: Looks down at said comfy/room pants and pulls out waistband to show lots of room. “No”
Aunt: “But you look like you have lost weight!”
Me: nonplussed, “No, I just like these jeans because they are roomy.”
Aunt: “Oh, with your figure you must always have room at the waist.” (Aunt is not being a witchy here, she is just referring to the fact that my figure is hour-glass and modern fitting jeans never fit).
Me: “I am used to pants not fitting, it has been this way for years, nearly 30 years now.”
Aunt: “You are over yourself now.”
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, 40 years old must be the official demarcation line, not between youth and middle age, but between being full of oneself and being over oneself.
div class=”note”* Somehow a fairly simple procedure descended into MRSA-flesh-eating-bacteria-dead-at-39.
** At my mother’s mother’s house and conducted because we are all going to separate places on Thanksgiving.