Dating midlife crisis

I do not want someone who is waiting for my ambition to subside and my children to get away from me.

It is not that I do not know how to relax, but that I never want to be great at relaxing.

I was predictable; I didn’t bring home any threats to their homeland security. It was easier to go to bed early, wake up early and get on with my day.

I also had hundreds of papers to grade, articles to file for magazines and newspapers, books to research and write. “He was so boring,” I told Dana, my former college roommate, on the phone after a nice date with a nice man who was nice looking.

The idea of being close emotionally or physically with someone — anyone — was far too unsettling.

I said no, thank you, to any offers but took the compliment they extended and that was all I needed for a while.

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When I met him, I didn’t realize he was in his mid-forties; I made him show me his driver’s license on our first date after he made a reference to the 1960s.

A few weeks ago, I published a funny piece about my ex-husband accusing me of a mid-life “problem” when I suddenly went blonde.

I ended it with the twisted reminder I was his midlife crisis twenty-five years before.

He was (and still is at almost 70) extraordinarily youthful looking. I almost didn’t see him again because he was so much older.

He was the oldest person I had ever dated and I was the most youthful woman he had dated in many years.

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