This past weekend was The Man’s birthday. I may have mentioned that there is a considerable difference between our ages, and he would much prefer me to be in my 40s than still in my 30s. He would also like me to have a few grey hairs. He would be much more comfortable if I was a tad older, but there’s not much we can do about that, so he will have to remain just shy of his comfort zone on this one.
Besides the two times since we’ve been dating that he has been mistaken for my father (ouch!), it hasn’t really been an issue, and in reality, neither of us thinks about it much. We get along so well, and rarely run out of things to talk about, as some would suspect a couple with such a sizeable age difference might experience. It just doesn’t matter.
We have differences of opinion, sure. But not on the big things, the things that matter. Sometimes he will reminisce about something that happened in the seventies or from before I was born, and we sometimes giggle about that. He’ll say, “Oh, don’t you remember that? You were two.”
We’re safe on the “half your age plus seven” rule, and besides that, we’re both adults. Neither of us has a a ton of money to chase, neither of us is a hot supermodel (although we are still extremely attracted to each other, even after three years). There are no ulterior motives, so it’s a non-issue. Besides, in another 20 years, who knows what we’ll look like?!