I am 32 next week. 32.
What a horribly scary thought. What happened to my twenties? (Answer – they were spent in a morphine induced haze and lots of pain after the horrid hit & run man worked his magic) Was my 30th birthday REALLY 2 years ago? Time really must fly when you’re having fun.
Because I am having fun. Despite it being slightly frightening that they’re here already, my 30’s so far have been incredible. I entered them with confidence, a truckload of knowledge and a pretty even head on me. I am making my own dreams come true, and helping my friends do the same wherever I can.
The only thing I haven’t yet started to sort out is finding “the one”. It’s not that I’ve been unlucky in love. Far from it. I have had a few long-term relationships and been lucky enough to share time with some amazing guys, but for whatever reason, they haven’t worked out. That’s totally OK. I’d rather be alone and happy than co-habiting and miserable. However, despite being fine on my own, it would be nice to have someone around to share a glass of wine with and snuggle up to on those cold winter evenings, right?
So. I’ve decided to try something new. Dating.
You see, I have never dated. Ever. My relationships have always happened accidentally – the men involved have been colleagues or good friends first. I have never had to go through that awkward first date phase…or worry about what to say…or wear…or eat for dinner (I hear spaghetti is a no no, far too messy).
So, at 32 years old, I’m going to jump in feet first and give dating a go. Maybe even multiple dating, like the yanks do. And if I’m going to try new things, I might as well widen my criteria.
We all have a criteria, right? Whatever it may be. Has to be over 6ft; can’t be blonde; shouldn’t have debts; must be good with his hands…
My criteria has always been flexible. I’m not particularly high maintenance, and I believe a great personality is much more important than how someone looks or what they do for a living. However. There is one thing I have never budged on.
I would not consider a younger man. At all. Ever. Full stop.
The closest I ever came was a 2 year relationship I had with someone whose birthday was a few months behind mine…and I wasn’t even keen on that idea either at the start. But a 2 year age difference? Ridiculous. 4 years? Impossible. 8? Are you out of your tiny freaking mind?!
But you know what? My relationships with older men haven’t worked out. They haven’t been bad, they just haven’t been excellent either. Older men come with so much baggage; exes, kids, career problems, a beer belly, hair growing out of their ears…it’s not always a bed of roses.
Younger boys have none of this drama. They’re full of life and want to have fun. OK, so they may not be on the top rung of the ladder at work, but they’re probably working towards it. They’re enthusiastic…And they’re pretty. Oh so pretty. They realise it’s important to go the gym, and they aren’t afraid to moisturise. Plus, they’re eager to please…
Maybe they’re not looking for the happy ever after yet. Marriage probably hasn’t even crossed their mind. But so what? It’s only dating…and dating is meant to be fun. So I’m throwing away the rule book, pulling those killer heels out of storage and getting ready to answer the phone to any respectable, eligible bachelors…however old they are.
And if they happen to be 24?
Call me a Cougar. I always liked big cats.