I know I have you in pure suspense at this point wondering what in the world is wrong with me because something must be, right? When the relationship finally ended nine years past its due date… I wanted so badly to have a conversation with a a full- blooded, successful, independent man.
Unfortunately, I was 21, and the pickings for established fellow 21-year-olds was, well, nonexistent.
The only guys I knew were frat boys that got drunk and peed their beds once a week—not man material.
I have more in common with this man decades older than me than anyone else on this planet.
To name a few (just to appease the skeptics): Our humor, our beliefs in religion, politics and family, our love for seasons, vacations, books, pancakes (very important to me), success, business and learning.
Yes, we have differences: He is an adrenaline junkie who skydives every weekend, and I get nervous looking over the second floor railing at the mall.
He claims that rules don’t apply to him and I have a panic attack running a yellow light.
We do have oddities that we don’t see eye to eye on, but we certainly don’t have any issues holding a conversation, debate or wrestling match.
One evening after we started dating, I was trying to win his heart over by showing him my impressive ability to down copious amounts of booze and still remember every word to Cher’s “Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves” during karaoke night at the local dive bar.
After my performance, as I was trying to decide what my next tune would be, a woman came up to me and my boyfriend.
I am simply talking about a woman in her 20s and an older, handsome, fit, genuine man as her partner.
I have to start with the disclaimer that I certainly don’t believe relationships between older men/women and teenage partners are healthy.