His name was Patrick, but everyone referred to him as “the 17-year-old.” That was how his number was saved in my phone. I met the 17-year-old while visiting my 17-year-old cousin in the burbs. I was 22. The cousin brought me to a high school party. Patrick was in the corner, tall and spidery with olive skin.
After a few shared cigarettes, I found myself making out with him on the hood of my car, our bodies causing the metal to cave where we lay.
“Leave the suburbs and come live in the city,” I said, the moon looming above us. Keep reading »
“I am really happy in my personal life … but it is complicated. I’m in the process of figuring out the future, and so is he… He’s incredibly kind, caring and sensitive. He challenges me in ways I wouldn’t be challenged otherwise. Even if we are not on the same page all the time, I like being in his space. I want to be a thoughtful, loving person to him in every way…. I’ve been called all kinds of things. I’ve been ‘cougared,’ which was just obnoxious. But if it’s good enough for Demi, right?”
—Katie Couric talks about her relationship with Brooks Perlin, who she’s been with since 2006 and who happens to be 17 years her junior. We say … you go, girl. [NY Daily News] Keep reading »
Last week, I met a friend for coffee and, as we sipped our cappuccinos, I pumped her for details on the date she’d been on the the night before. “It was alright,” she said, sounding unenthused. “He was just really … young.”
“How young?” I asked, worried we might be talking about a guy with a fake ID.
“Twenty-six,” she said, wincing ever-so-slightly as she pushed out the words.
“That’s not that young,” I said, rushing to the defense of this guy I’d never met. But as I pointed out that there was five years between them—not the biggest age differential ever—I could tell by the look on her face that it wasn’t going to change her mind. When you’re not feeling it, you’re just not feeling it—and I respect that. Keep reading »