Recently my doctor called to tell me the good news; I have the bones of a seventy-year old woman. I am sixty. I’ve had it! All these years, I have led the good life. I have eaten correctly, exercised several times a week, and been in a monogamous, loving relationship. Clearly something is wrong—it’s time I took up a vice.

I may need to resort to smoking. I did smoke once when I was a cocktail waitress during my college days.  My boss gave me tables where no one sat and told me to “look busy.”  How could I look busy—there was nothing to do, so I smoked with my high heel cocked on the bar rail. I gave up this nasty habit the night I chain-smoked a pack. I don’t really want to go back to it but hey, if smoking is going to improve my health, I’ll light up.

Maybe I should drink more. An occasional cocktail has clearly been a mistake. I spend more time in my doctor’s waiting room than his fish tank does. If I drank more, maybe my old bones would stop creaking when I walked up stairs, or they would still creak, but I wouldn’t care.

Could an affair be the answer? I have been happily married for forty years. What has it done for my health? All the studies say that married people live longer than single people. Not with these bones, they won’t. I confess that I do have crushes on a regular basis and tell my husband about the hunks I meet.  However, he is not jealous in the least. Perhaps that is the problem; I need to give him more to worry about.

Eating junk food might be the ticket. I eat little meat and not much processed food. I haven’t eaten in a fast food restaurant in years. A big mistake. I should inhale greasy hamburgers, salty French fries, and plastic milkshakes. These would probably shock my bones into submission.

I live in the Northwest and do not drink coffee. This must be the cause of my distress—I am being disloyal to my region. Coffee makes me jittery. Clearly my body craves more jittering. No more hand-squeezed juices for me. I am going to wait at Starbucks each day for my fix of caffeine and warm liquids in the belly.

Another area where I am a bad girl is this whole thing about drinking eight glasses of water a day. If I get two glasses of liquid down, I am lucky. The person who made up the eight-glass rule is obviously a man who has never waited on line at a women’s bathroom. Women, how about those lines at intermissions of plays when the lights are flickering to get you back to your seat and you are number 18, still “holding?”

I confess I do have a vice, but I guess I don’t take it far enough. Sugar. I adore sugar. I start the day with a juice and honor my sweet cravings until dinner. However, I must not be eating enough sugar. I will add a chocolate dessert to my lunch menu for medicinal purposes.

What is it with this body of mine? How has my Pollyanna lifestyle helped it? Am I supposed to guzzle water, exercise several times a week, and remain faithful to my husband? Why? I have bones that are ten years older than I am! It is time to choose a vice. Which vice will make these old bones young again?  Tell me.