My wife, the female Benjamin Button

I have written before about the transformation my wife underwent a few years ago. She became, while not an entirely new person, certainly a different person. An improved version of an already-awesome model, if you will.

Nowadays she's living life in the chaotic context of our family, doing the superhuman things moms do to keep us all going. And she's also working outside the home for the first time since the mid-90s. She's a circulation clerk at Wickliffe Public Library, and that job takes up a considerable chunk of her time.

But then there's also this: She's getting hotter. Women often complain that the aging process discriminates against them, as men get more "distinguished" and they feel they just get, well, older.

That, however, is not the case in my marriage. While I find myself weathering under the ravages of nearly half a century, my wife seems to be getting younger.

This is good in that, you know, I like having the hot wife. But it's bad because I start to look pretty lame in comparison.

It was like this when we were first engaged, too. She was young and thin and pretty, and I looked like I weighed 400 pounds.

Actually, at the time we took our engagement photo (January 1991), I WAS at the heaviest point of my life at 217 pounds. And it was apparently all in my gigantic head. I look like I'm going to lean over and eat her in one bite in that picture.

Anyway, we're back to Beauty and the Beast mode, and I have mixed emotions.

But hey, she has to wear reading glasses and I don't! So there's that.