P (age 5): “How old is Grammy?”
Me: “74”
P: “How old is Grandpop?”
Me: “73”
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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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.
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.
Clothed with Joy 