"I was going to tell you the next time I saw you, I promise. I knew you'd freak if I tacked on five more years, and we were having such a good time. I really like you, Vanessa.""I really like you, too," I said meekly, my anger fading.I felt like every time we went to a fancy restaurant, the maître d' thought I was Michael's daughter.I took it quickly and gagged while he slammed his without flinching. As we grinned at each other across the table (maybe it was just the buzz from the wine), I began to think that maybe eight years age difference wouldn't be so bad. In truth, my immaturity—and insecurity about his age—drove us to the verge of breaking up too many times to count.I Googled him the next day, and lo and behold, right there on his college athlete stats page, was his birthdate. I couldn't relax and accept Michael's age for what it was, especially when we were out in public.There was something especially cool about being friends with them. "I don't want you hanging around with someone that much older than you.""Mom." I'm sure I rolled my eyes. ""So, no normal 20 year old wants to hang out with someone who is 15. Stay away from him."This was the sort of thing that always led to my leaving the room in a teary huff, maintaining loudly that she Just Didn't Understand. One Saturday, the guys planned a picnic in a nearby forest park. We had gotten in the habit of him driving me home, and my suddenly wanting to make different arrangements seemed to inconvenience everyone.We were still at an age where our parents insisted on treating us like children. Once again, she was treating me like a child, someone unable to make her own decisions. It didn't seem like such a big deal, as my best friend was doing nothing sneaking around to be with her boyfriend. Suddenly, I wasn't that scared, invisible girl anymore, watching from the sidelines. I remember it was a gorgeous fall day, crisp and cool, and the first time I'd had Brie cheese and red wine. Even worse, I couldn't say why I didn't want to go with him.
I was 22, single and enjoying the fact that bars in the city stayed open until 4 a.m. On our first date, I was telling Michael about my upcoming birthday plans when the truth came out."How old are you again? But I'm actually turning 23." I was really nervous he would freak out, but instead he started to laugh."Oh, wow," he said. My friends couldn't believe how old he was, but they could see how happy I was. I cringed as Michael cracked an inappropriate joke about my girlfriend's low-cut shirt—I think it was his attempt at "college humor." The last straw was when he bought a round of Grey Goose shots for everyone.
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Since you are 18 years old, you are allowed to date a woman half your age plus seven." Son looked at him and said, "Alright, Dad.
You're 50, so that means you can date a woman who is 32.