When The Other Woman Is A Younger Woman

I’m twenty-three years old and I’m already being replaced by younger women—scratch that—girls. Sure, their boobs might be perkier and their nubile bodies may not have years and pounds of alcohol and comfort foods appended to their hips, but honestly, what is so alluring about a pre-pubescent chick who has no life experience? Oh God, I sound like my mother post-divorce, mid-hellacious dating, pre-finding the last good man on earth. But she was forty-five; mother of three. Not twenty-three, with no children. Hell no.My ex-boyfriend lives on the east coast with the rest of my pals. I get constant updates on his life and his escapades; it’s like a joyous daily newsletter reminding me he has prospects and flirtations and is a man-about-town, while here I am a woman-about-the-couch. No, it’s not as bleak as that; I’m actually focusing on my career right now. (Isn’t that what Ms. Nesbit down the street said right before she purchased her seventeenth cat?)

Anyway, I got the word that he’s chasing after a newly registered voter who attends the same high school as my little brother. Eighteen. She’s eighteen—six years younger than him. They have made out. My stomach turns. My dreams are haunted by her lovely, honey-colored, Lolita face. The worst part is that I know her. I know her and I don’t hate her. Read more