In fact, it feels like the male population is entirely fuckboys sometimes. But, as much as fuckboys are a nuisance to society, it’s pretty entertaining to deal with them, especially if you know off the bat exactly what their game is. A week later, somewhere between one and four glasses of wine, he told me I looked “quite young” and asked how old I was.“I’m 25,” I said, trying to seem proud of the number even though I’d just celebrated this birthday with a bit of dread about growing up. He nodded in surprise and didn’t offer his age until I asked for it. Then he excused himself to the go to the bathroom while I sat wondering what this number meant: Would he want to move faster in a relationship? Would he be appalled by my tiny studio apartment, which I could barely afford? He was closer to 40 than I was to 30, and I felt like he’d inevitably want marriage and children much sooner than I would. So I let our connection slip away, allowing my concern over our age difference to overshadow our passion. “You’ll never guess,” he said, which is when I tried to examine his face for wrinkles and his hair for salt-and-pepper grays—but there weren’t any.“I’m 38,” he said. “So I know what you’re thinking,” he said, upon returning. ” He launched into an explanation about not finding the right woman yet and managed to quell all of my concerns—at least for the time being.
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