Dating a guy 12 years older
When Alex and I first met, I figured we were the same age. Then I did the Official Age Test, and we just passed.
“I have to tell you something,” he said, swallowing hard. Later that night, I called my mom, who told me that age was just a number.
I wasn't sure how it would go, yet there he was, charming the pants off them all by himself, busting out his A-material small talk with some friends in a corner. Instead I shoved a cracker in my mouth and mulled over her question as I pretended it was hard to chew. Yes, my new man was older than me, much older than me.
After politely playing 20 questions with Sue about my new boyfriend, I knew this was the one she was getting at.
Since then, I’ve basically forgotten he’s older than me (again, that baby face!
), but now and again, the age gap pops up in funny (and welcome) ways: * Funny cultural references.
But, honestly, it wouldn’t have mattered anyway because I was already falling in love with him.
Had I known ahead of time, I might have hesitated to go on our first date, but now here I was, dating a guy more than a decade older than me, and I was hooked.
It helps me chill out when I notice gray hairs and wrinkles:) I guess the bottom line is: In this age of online dating, where you can check off all your requirements (Six feet or taller! ), it’s easy to think you can pinpoint the exact person you’re looking for. Maybe the sweetest, loveliest future husband is a whopping 13 years older than you or [fill in the blank of whatever you think you WOULDN’T want] yet it doesn’t matter at all. When I’m upset about something, Alex has enough life experience to know that “it’s always darkest before the dawn” and “this, too, shall pass”—and explain why that’s true for me. 8 things I’ve learned about marriage, and what marriage means.He knows from experience how to see the big picture, the long game, and helps me not get stuck in the moment. Alex grew up in the seventies, when free-range parenting was the norm. Alex has racked up tidbits through the years, so he pretty much always knows the answers to my questions, from current events to vocab words to political history. We were strolling home from dinner in the West Village, full of burgers and rosy-cheeked from red wine, when he stopped short on the busy sidewalk. It was much older than I had guessed from his baby face, Converse sneakers and goofy demeanor. “I’m 41.” At the time, I was in my late twenties, and 41 seemed ancient.
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So, he can even communicate them to you to prevent friction.