Parties, rock concerts, nightclubs—I dated the way I should have when I was younger: for fun, without an eye toward marriage.
Like "playing the triangle in a Mississippi-by-way-of-Brooklyn jug band," or "Kickstarting a docudrama series he plans to direct, produce, write and star in" or "enjoying a long and fulfilling career that is also his passion and will never require him to do anything he doesn't want to do." Oh, dear. You have conversations with female acquaintences whose husbands are lawyers or doctors or entrepreneurs who are like "So what does he do? Hahahhaha do you know where the ladies' room is, great, thanks."5. And you wind up not being able to take that trip to Puerto Vallarta because he racked up way too many bar tabs last month.6.
He still wants to have intellectual discussions with you over dinner because he misses the ones he had in college.
Sorry, I want to smash my face directly into my fresh rosemary pasta without discussing the recurring motifs of Francis Ford Coppola films. He can eat whatever and expects you to also be able to eat whatever.
"This is nothing compared to the long lines during the oil crisis," I say to my husband, Bronson, as he pulls into a particularly crowded Mobil station near the Holland Tunnel. Or could it be caused by something as shallow and immediate as a woman's not wanting anyone to think her date is her younger brother or, God help us, her son?
People were siphoning fuel from their neighbors' cars in the dead of night! She's older than he is, you know." Does our culture's collective discomfort with a reversal of the usual younger woman–older man dynamic come, as scientists suggest, from a deep-rooted evolutionary instinct that drives women to choose the wiser, older, more powerful alpha male over the untested young buck?
I look at him, stunned that he could forget such a big part of 1973. You'd really dig it." Or "Susan Sarandon and Tim Robbins!
We've been together for seven years now, and I'm so used to considering Bronson my peer that I often forget about our 13½-year age difference. In the beginning, if I wasn't thinking, Is he too young for me? someone else was thinking it for me—and blurting out, "Hey, have you seen How Stella Got Her Groove Back?
Maybe women feel that because girls have a head start on maturity back in the seventh grade, our emotional and spiritual equals must forever be at least five years older than we are.
Whatever part of the conventional wisdom they buy into, American women find it easy to summarily reject younger men. They could be denying themselves the most wonderful relationship of their lives.
I was married once before, to a man five years my senior.
After 12 increasingly dreary years capped by a wrenching divorce, I couldn't imagine why women in my situation (childless divorcées) complained about the prospect of reentering single life. Wasn't finally having some laughs, romance, and excitement the way to take the "crisis" out of "midlife"?