When I first moved to New York City at 22, I accidentally dated a man twice my age. I knew he was older than I was and had been married before, but I’d guessed he was in his thirties.
How wrong I was. Turns out, he was just a few years younger than my dad. When I discovered this, we already had our hands entwined in the back of a cab. I couldn’t pull away and say, “Never mind, now you’re too old for me.” So I acted very casually and shrugged, “Men age. Women rot.”
It was a saying I’d read at some point that didn’t mean much to me back then. But as I’ve grown older, wiser, and more, let’s say, creased, I’ve come to see its truth. Now I date men closer to my own age now, but none of them are worried about wrinkle cream for the face. Meanwhile, my women friends and I have begun the discussion: “Would you rather keep a youthful face or a youthful body?” More