Young Blood and Old Dogs…

It’s old hat- a man dating a younger woman. It’s like, as common as hearing Kings of Leon on the radio.

But a 30 year old woman dating a guy younger than her… Well, let’s see. I’m not “old” enough to be a sugar mommy and trawl the gyms for young stallions… This ‘life timeline’ grey area makes it weird.

I’ve dated men older than me. Conversation’s great for a while… “so tell me what it was like to serve in the Army?”…… “ice creams cost HOW much when you were 7??!”… Pro’s: They’re settled. They know what career suits them and are likely to be totally into it. They’re likely to have travelled further than Pretoria. They have super exciting life stories that keep you on the edge of your seat… and they remember what they were doing when Nellie was freed from prison.

The novelty wears off. Then it dawns on you: “hmmm… 40 and never been married/engaged/shared a cupboard?” eventually the glaring proof of commitment phobia becomes like a torch in your eye.

I’ve dated a few men who’ve been my age. Great! We can talk about Vanilla Ice, Depeche Mode, the importance of The Breakfast Club on our fashion sense, and Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.

Pro’s: They probably don’t need heart medication. They probably don’t suffer hangovers like 50 year olds (ie: moan moan creeeeeeek moan). They don’t fret about receding hairlines and the how the price of petrol has like, totally skyrocked oh my god.

Then they work on that one photo shoot with that group of young stylists and art directors and suddenly realise they really need to be dating a young Afrikaans girl with blonde hair who still lives at home. (WHOAH!! Did I just say that out loud??)

Er hem. Annnnyway.

I’ve dated a few men (Boys?? Toddlers??) younger than me too. Let me just concede that it is a refreshing experience, if only for their wide eyed enthusiasm and awe at how totally amazing it is to be a Totally Independent Woman.

Pro’s: They have a full head of hair. They probably don’t need a Red Bull to stay awake during gym. Their mum’s do their washing so you don’t have to.

Then you go back to his “place” and realise by “place” he actually meant “shithole commune shared with 3 other ADHD alcoholics”.

Deep sigh. Then I remember that everyone’s different, and there to every rule there’s an exception. Thank God.

 

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