How's the weather? How's your husband?

You watch Sex and the City, right? (If you just said “No”, immediately hit up Netflix. Or come on over, I have all the DVDs.)  Anyway, remember the episode in season 3-ish, when the girls are at an engagement party? Someone asks Miranda if she’s seeing anyone special, and she jokes about seeing “unspecial” guys.

I felt like I had to do that the other day. Actually, all week! Maybe it’s because Sweetest Day, the lamest holiday EVER, is today, but all week people have been asking me about a husband. Talking about relationships is the new talking about the weather.  People don’t care if it’s going to rain anymore, what matters is do you have a diamond on your finger!

It started when I was telling someone about moving. I said I was excited to go, but really scared. I’m leaving my home, the place I’m comfortable with, and the friends I love. Her response was an enthusiastic, “Maybe you’ll meet your future husband there!”

See? That really did happen. 

Two days later, I had a similar conversation with someone else. This time I was freaking out a little more about moving (I don’t like change!), and she said, “Who knows, maybe the man of your dreams will be there.” 

I can't make this up.

I think about three other people said pretty much the exact same thing. “Maybe your husband is there!” 

………And if he’s not? Does that mean this move will be a waste of time? Is meeting a husband the only good thing that could happen there?  Forget advancing my career, or discovering a new hobby, or making great new friends.  Nope, I must find the love of my life.

Thankfully I have my male friends too, who remind me of the important things (like the big football team in this town… ugh).

Just yesterday I was on the phone catching up with an old friend I haven’t talked to in years. After updating me on her kids’ progress, she asked, “So, do you have a man?”  No honey, I have Sex and the City.  Sometimes without the city.  

Get your boobs felt up this month!

Is it October already?! No flipping way. Someone wake up Green Day! (Is that overused yet? Yeah? Okay, moving on…)

In case you haven’t seen the cover of any women’s magazine lately, it’s also Breast Cancer Awareness Month!  Companies give you many options to raise awareness – buy their pink nail polish, buy their pink watches, buy their pink whatever-they-happen-to-specialize-in, etc.  You can get all the pink streaks in your hair you want (and I kind of want to do that), but you know the best thing you can do this month?  Get a mammogram. 

I know what you’re thinking: “Ummm hellooooo I’m not 40 yet!”  You know who doesn’t care? Breast cancer.  I really don’t know why they say you don’t need a mammogram until you’re 40.  Does cancer have some sort of clock? As soon as you turn 40, its alarm goes off saying it’s time to invade your body? Not that I’m aware of. 

My mom and me on Thanksgiving 1998

My mom was diagnosed with breast cancer when she was 34.  She had no family history, no factors that statistics say cause it (like waiting to have kids), no reason to believe she was at a higher risk of breast cancer. She just got it.  Unfortunately, she didn’t make it to 40. She didn’t even make it to 38. 

So why are doctors/insurance companies saying wait until 40? I got my first one last year.  I had to fight with my insurance company to cover it, but I got it.  It’s really easy – you just go in there, they flatten your boobs like a pancake (seriously didn’t know it flattened that much), take a few quick pictures, and you’re done!  It doesn’t hurt –okay, it’s not the most comfortable thing in the world, but it’s not painful. And it’s so relieving when you get that letter saying, “There is no mammographic evidence of malignancy.” BAM! I’m cancer-free! Until next year.

So this month, instead of buying all things pink (well, you can do that too), take an afternoon off and get a mammogram. You can make it easier like I did and make a day of it with your best friend! She went with me, then we had margaritas with lunch to celebrate!

Then, when that lovely little letter comes in, jump up and down for joy. Then straighten out your pink-streaked hair and get on with your cancer-free life.