P (age 5): “How old is Grammy?”
P: “How old is Grandpop?”
P: “Grammy is bigger than Grandpop?!”
G (age 7, know it all): They love each other. That’s all that matters.
We’re talking 6 months here, people.
What is it with little girls (especially) desiring that the man in a relationship should be older? Why is that such a big deal? Are little boys obsessed with this as well?
I’m sure, as a child, I probably assumed that men should be older than the women they married, but I don’t think I lost much sleep over it. In fact, I think I married a younger man (my ex-husband didn’t have a birth certificate, so we really don’t know – really long story about being born in a village.) If I had any age difference issues I suppose I got over them.
All my life I have preferred older men, yet, here in my forties, I think I would be cool with a younger man, if that were meant to be. Not too young, mind you, I have no desire to be with a man who has a significantly smaller amount of life experience than me; that’s bound to turn out bad.
But a little bit younger wouldn’t be too bad – I’d just make sure not to mention his age to my kids…
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A little over a year ago Dental was added to my Health Insurance; apparently it was just snuck it in there because I didn’t know about it until last month. I suppose if I actually read the yearly manuals I might have known sooner.
So it came to be, yesterday, after a hiatus of three years, I paid a visit to my dentist. According to her, my gums bleed too much and I need to floss. Twice a day.
Can I be real honest? I hate brushing my teeth. Don’t get me wrong, I hate my stinky, nasty morning mouth more, so I brush first thing every day. But I don’t have to like it. Word on the street is, you’re supposed to brush twice a day. At least. And floss. Twice! ai yi yi…
More brutal honesty: The only way I brush more than once a day is if I have a date.
With a real live man. Period. I’ll even Listerine for that.
Back to the Dentist. As I lounged in the chair with the suction tube hanging out of the corner of my mouth, I reminisced about the good old days at the dentist. Back when the dentist was literally on the corner of the next block over and I walked myself there with a signed check from my parents in my hand. This was way back, before People and US or iPhones. In those days I read Highlights and Ranger Rick in the waiting room, which doubled as the basement of the Dentist’s family home.
In those days there was no spit sucker hanging out of your mouth, you had to sit up and spit after each section of your mouth was scraped and polished.
Sit up. Spit into a tiny porcelain sink. (That white mini-faucet just ran and ran and ran…) Drink from your little paper cup and rinse out every last bit of that gritty pink paste.
I miss the sit up and spit. I liked seeing what the dentist was digging out of there.
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If you’re female (or even male) you’ve probably considered at some point in your single life losing weight in order to get into “dating shape.” The if I were thinner, maybe I’d attract someone, line of thinking. I confess, it pops into my mind quite often. But you know what, then I examine my life experience and look at the happily dating and married people around me and I think, plump girls find love too.
*If you’re thinkin’ that title should be on a T-shirt, I’m already there.