Mike* burst out laughing. The waiter hovering nearby followed suit. Meanwhile, I wanted to slide under the table and disappear. But not before I checked his ID. He was born in 1986; I was born in 1966. I'm about to turn 48; he's about to turn 28. And yet we're in love.
Three years ago, Mike and I met at a coworker's engagement party. I knew that the guests at the party were going to be younger than me; I work as an occupational therapist at a hospital and most of the coworkers I'm closest with are the ones in their 20s and early 30s. I've always tended to get along better with people a decade or so younger than me--peg it to my being single with no kids as well as a why not attitude that led me to spend my own 20s and 30s bouncing from guy to state to job.
At the party, I flirted with the handsome man making a rum and coke in the kitchen, asking if he could whipRead More »from What Dating a Man 20 Years Younger Taught Me About Love