Last Friday I went out with PicStitch. I met him at a bar for a drink, and then we headed to another spot for dinner. We were having a great date as usual.
I don’t remember exactly how it happened. I think it started when the song Loser by Beck came on, and he knew the song but didn’t know who sang it. I said it was Beck, and he said “Bent?” or something like that. Then some other song came on, and he was like “this song is so old, it reminds me of junior high school.” But I remembered that song from high school or maybe even college!
Those two things were kind of an eye-rolling reminder that he’s younger than me – I’m 34 and he’s 30. I asked him, “What year were you born again?” I wasn’t actually questioning it. I was expecting him to say 1982 or 1983, at which point I would make some smart-assed comment acknowledging the age gap.
He paused and said “1980.” I was like “Huh??? How old are you again?” I was really confused. For a second I thought that maybe I had heard him wrong that first night we met when he told me he was 30. He said, “I’m 33.” But the look on his face, omg, he looked so guilty!
I said, “Let me see your license.” I swear he was like a deer in the headlights. “Um, I don’t know where it is…um…” I said “Give it to me.” Finally he pulled his wallet out and just laid it in front of me. I opened it and found his license. It took me a minute to comprehend what I was seeing, because it’s a California license.
And then I saw his date of birth: October 9, 1987. Making him…25 years old.
I was like “Are you fucking kidding me??” I swear, I was dumbfounded. He started apologizing and trying to explain himself – he thought I was really pretty and he knew I wouldn’t take him seriously if I knew how old he was, so he told me he was older – but he couldn’t remember HOW old he had told me he was, because he was drunk that night too!
My emotions ranged between being upset and finding the whole thing hilarious. Over the next hour I must have said “is this actually happening right now??” at least a dozen times.
He said, “I’m sorry if you’re mad at me.” I said, “I’m not mad, I’m disappointed – whatever thoughts I had about where this could possibly go have just gone out the window, and besides that I just feel really foolish.”
During the conversation that followed I did end up softening up a little bit – I was pretty buzzed, and it was hard to stay mad at him. He kept telling me how beautiful I am and how much he likes me and likes spending time with me, and the flattery worked.
He also said things like “just because I’m young doesn’t mean I’m not looking for the same thing as you.” “The girls I’ve met in NY that are my age are so shallow, they’re not looking for the same thing I am.” “I’m from the country – I should have been married 5 years ago!” Just enough bullshit to make me think “Hey, you never know.”
Eventually we left. The way I saw it, I had two options. I could go home alone and cry and be depressed and probably never see him again. OR I could let him come home with me and deal with reality in the morning. Maybe not the most rational way of thinking, but I was drunk. And since he was now relegated to the “no long-term potential” category, there was no point in holding out anymore.
So yeah, he came over…The next day we got lunch and spent the day on my couch, watching tv and cuddling and stuff. It was actually really enjoyable. Eventually he had to leave, so I dropped him off at the train around 5.
Over that lunch he said, “If age is really the only thing that would make you want to end it, then you should keep dating me.” Whatever…even though there’s no long-term potential, he’s the only guy I’ve actually enjoyed spending any time with lately. So I might as well continue on with him until something else comes along, right?
The only “challenge” will be making sure that I don’t get too attached. I don’t see that being a problem, but who knows. We’ll see what happens.