Life Goes On

Well, I heard the news today.  Hoo boy.  Paul McCartney has been snapped up again by some other woman.  Now that he is 69 (well past 64), and I’m pushing 60, Sir Paul’s impending marriage probably means that my chances of becoming Mrs. McCartney one day are getting slimmer. The torch I’ve been carrying since I was 13 is growing dim. 

When I mentioned this to Ken, he was mildly consoling, “Maybe he hasn’t heard that you’re on Weight Watchers.”  I married a funny man.  

Oh, yeah, right. I am married. Happily, I might add. Ken also said it would come to fisticuffs if McCartney ever tried to take me away from him.  And I told Ken that I would never leave him even for my favorite former Beatle.  So, we’re good with it.

But I did wonder what it might have been like if my dream had come true.  What if I had actually met Paul somehow (o.k., sure, that might have been a one in a million longshot), and he had fallen for me (a sure fire guarantee once we had met!) What if we had married (Westminster Abbey no doubt) and lived happily ever after.  I began to wonder if life with a celebrity like Paul McCartney would have been the same as any ordinary life.

Would we have argued about the same things as most married couples? Like, sharing the house work?  “If I’ve asked you once, I’ve asked you a hundred times to clean up all these music sheets!  I’ve had enough of all those silly love songs!”  

Could we have worked it out?

Would he have appreciated my helpful comments on his work?  “I think you should cheer that one up a bit. Why don’t you take that sad song and…oh, I don’t know… make it better?”

Would we have agonized over big purchases?  “Baby, quite worrying…you’re a rich man!”

Would we have a job jar? "Hon, could you please fix that hole where the rain comes in?"

Would I have gotten involved in record deal discussions? “For heaven’s sake, won’t you listen to what the man said?!?”
Would we have planned annual vacations?  “I don’t know, honey. That looks like such a long and winding road. Let’s look for an easier route.”  

And would I have gotten to drive an Aston Martin or two? “Baby! I can drive your car?!?" 

Would we have found those little niggling imperfections and nitpick them to bits, “For gosh sakes, Paul, will you just let it be!”

I like to think I would have made a good muse.  Imagine, being an influence on the greatest pop music of our generation.  Maybe he’d have been amazed.  But, oh well, so much for my girlhood dreams.  Or as Paul would say, “oh bla dee, oh bla dah”.