I date younger men because I like my partners the way I like my phones: new, fast, and with features I don’t fully understand yet.
They’re fun. They’re spontaneous. They think my rants about politics and design are “so hot.” They call me “wise” because I know how to use a calendar and book my own dentist appointments. It’s adorable. And by “adorable,” I mean I should probably be arrested.
The backfire hits when I forget one small detail: he’s still emotionally where I was when I thought Monster Energy was a personality. I confuse “he’s so open-minded” with “he has the capacity to be an adult,” and then act surprised when he ghosts instead of having an actual conversation.
The crazy realization? It’s not that younger men are the issue. It’s that I keep handing my grown-woman heart to a man who’s never had to assemble furniture alone, then filing it under “potential.”
So no, I’m not swearing off younger men. I’m just finally admitting that when the emotional Wi-Fi cuts out, I’m the idiot who kept streaming on 1% battery and no charger.
If anything I have confessed or created resonated, please let me know