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At the tender age of 52, I let Hubby talk me into taking up roller-blading for exercise. I obediently purchased all the protective gear and took lessons from a pro. All went well until one morning nine weeks into my roller-blading odyssey the inevitable happened. 

      Hubby and I were roller-blading around the Houston Galleria area at 7:00 AM on a Sunday morning, when suddenly, for no reason, my feet flew up into the air and my bum met the pavement - THUD - really hard. Hubby glided over to me in his oh-so-easy style and with much concern and worry on his face, asked if I was ok. I was desperately blinking back my tears as my whole core felt as if it had been "shaken, not stirred" by Sean Connery, himself. The fall had knocked the wind out of me; all I could do was sit there and glare at Hubby. At that moment I resented his natural athletic ability and how easily sports just came to him. Good Gravy!!! He was 6 years older than me . . . shouldn’t I be the one skating circles around him???

      When Hubby knelt down and put his arm around me, I felt guilty for resenting his athletic prowess. He helped me unlace my skates and then helped me up. I walked back to the car in my white cottoned-stocking feet; thank God it was 7:00 AM on a Sunday morning and still too early for the sidewalk-breakfasting Gen-Xers to witness my walk of shame back in my stocking feet with Hubby oh-so-smoothly gliding along side of me. OK, OK, the ugly head of resentment was rearing up again!!

      That afternoon, Hubby mysteriously disappeared. Two hours later he returned bearing a gift for me in a bright yellow plastic bag. Like a proud Kitty-britches presenting a dead mouse at the front door for us to admire, Hubby handed me the most romantic gift that he could think of: a thickly padded bum-pad, specially made for me to wear smartly tucked into my shorts while roller-blading. Believe me, after 36 years of marriage, that WAS a romantic gift because it was made just for me and something that he had given much thought about before buying.

      So there stood Hubby, so proud of his gift, that, I swear, I could hear him purring. I felt like scratching him behind his ears and chucking him under his chin, just like I did to Kitty-britches when he would purr at my feet demanding my attention and praise.

      As I examined the bum pad, my mind was screaming rapid-fire questions: "Is he crazy? Does he really believe that I am going to put those skates back on? Good Gravy! I am a 52-year-old, post menopausal woman . . . what was I thinking? How am I going to explain to my 40-something GYN physician the reason I am requesting an ex-ray of my tailbone (which I was sure I had fractured)? Am I going to have to sit through another lecture about taking care of my bones now that I am post-menopausal?" I looked up at Hubby, threw my arms around him, kissed him and thanked him profusely for such a thoughtful and caring gift.

      Follow-up: Just for the record, my tailbone was not fractured, just bruised (as was my ego). And, NO, I never put the roller-blades back on again. I found a grateful soul out on the Houston-Free-cycle website who was more than happy to scoop up my skates, helmet, knee pads, elbow pads, palm pads, and, of course, the un-used bum pad. I have to admit, that I hesitated giving away the bum pad, as it really did have some sentimental value; but what would future generations surmise when they open the hope chest, and there, next to my wedding rings, is a bum pad??? Thus, my decision was clear: It had to go with the rest of the gear!