When it comes to dating, instead of doing that equation where you cut your age in half and add seven, my math is a little different. My thought process is as follows – if they were born after I got my period for the first time or was legally considered an adult, I am open to going out with them. For example, if I am feeling virtuous they can be up to 14 years younger and there is no guilt. If I am feeling wild or am super drunk, they can be 18 years younger and I can regret it in the morning. However, this math makes no sense if you actually think about it so my advice is that you don’t. I try not to, especially when it is happening.
And age doesn’t always matter. I have met plenty of men whom my mother calls “age appropriate” and they are just as immature or self-absorbed as anyone else. Just because you are in your 40s or 50s doesn’t mean you have your shit together. Although, looking at the other end of the spectrum, I did read a meme the other day that said something along the lines of – Dating men in their twenties is like having an unpaid internship. I wholeheartedly agree with that. It is so much work and so little pay-off. At the end of it you are passing them on to the next chick fully formed and pretty much potty trained. Fewer rough edges and way more self-awareness.
I think the sweet spot must be early 30s. They may or may not have children. They like the idea of an older woman and they have enough life experience that you don’t feel like you are teaching them how to be a functioning adult. The problem is if they want children and expect you to carry them. That whole sharing your own genes thing. It could happen but let’s not hold our breath. My ovaries probably look like prunes and are about as hospitable for human life as Mars. Not traits that people are looking for when they want to procreate naturally. However if they don’t want kids, I am the right person for the job.
Although at this point, I am so set in my ways it would be a miracle if anyone wanted to date me. I am certainly no walk in the park. There is no room in my closet for anyone else, my toothbrush holder is full and I make the bed as soon as I get up, whether you are in it or not. I now understand why my grandparents had separate bedrooms. Separate houses make even more sense. There is no need to inflict my idiosyncracies on anyone else. Living with someone takes off the blinders. I don’t want anyone to watch me floss my teeth or eat cereal three meals a day. Where is the mystery? How can I pretend to be a fully functioning adult myself if they are seeing the truth on a daily basis? It is bad enough that they would have to indulge my love of athleisure wear and flannel pajamas every now and then but to have to deal with it 24 hours a day? No thank you. At least I like to shower so I have that going for me.