Being in New England for our family vacation has, much to my dismay, subjected me to a handful of people from my past. I’m not talking about ex-boyfriends or anything that could lead into an entertaining moment as I pretend I’m not me and immediately start speaking French at some wonky attempt to further prove that hell no, bitches, you don’t know me, but other blasts from the past instead.
The end of our vacation brought us back up to NH, and since it’s summer and for some reason people like to hang around their parents’ home this time of year, I ran into a girl, or rather a woman at this point, whom I used to babysit. If that doesn’t make you feel ancient, I don’t know what will.
I babysat Megan when I was in high school when she was probably about five or six years old. Although I didn’t inquire about her exact age now, it’s safe to say there’s at least a good decade between us, especially when she mentioned that she graduated from college just last year. I didn’t recognize the kid at all. It was she who, while I was walking Hubbell, came running up to me because, and I quote “I knew it was you right away! Except your hair is no longer pink.” Oh, youth during the grunge era — so cool.
I played along and listened to her tell me about her life that mostly consisted of trying to figure out exactly what she should be doing with her degree in Anthropology. Oh, youth in their early 20’s — I’m so jealous. She also told me that she had recently started a fella and her parents weren’t too keen on the age difference. I assumed he was either 10 years older, or maybe 18 and a bit on the young side. Nope. Megan, the kid I used to babysit and pray that she wouldn’t drown every time she dramatically threw herself in the pool while screaming “Mandy! Look! Someone shot me!” is dating a man 34 years older than herself. Had I been drinking a beverage or chowing down on food, I would have choked. He’s also four years older than her parents.
I asked her how that was working out and she gushed that she was madly in love, had never felt like this before (well, she is about 22 or so), and they have so much in common. I’m in my early 30’s, and I don’t have anything in common with someone who is 34 years older than me — well, except for my parents, but that’s just because they brought me into this world and raised me. Other than that, I have a hard enough time relating to people in their early 40’s and that’s not that far away from me.
Can it possibly work with such a huge age difference? That’s an entire lifetime of a difference. Am I missing the point of love? Should age never ever be a factor? Is it wrong that I think this guy is a total pervert and loves having the upper hand in this relationship, which I’m assuming he must, considering he’s old enough to be her dad?
I gave Megan my email and told her if she was ever in NYC, we should get a drink. I also told her, in all honesty, that I’m really curious how long this relationship of hers will last since they had only been dating for six months. Did I mention that the guy has two daughters of his own who are almost ten years older than Megan? She had hoped they’d want to be her friend, but they refuse to talk to her which, according to Megan, is “really confusing, because I think we’d be great friends!” I tried not to roll my eyes. But 34 fucking years? That’s pushing it, right? Or is Chatel just a jaded gal?
I love referring to myself in the third person.
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